Blind Spots
by whenithitsthefan
Summary: On a mission in Germany, a building explodes and Clint is hospitalized, losing the use of his greatest asset; his sight. Teamfic (plus Coulson). Rated T for language & minor violence. Complete!
1. Krause and Effect

Summary: On a mission in Germany, a building explodes and Clint is hospitalized, losing the use of his greatest asset; his sight. Post-Avengers. T for language, some minor adult themes (nothing too major) and maybe a little violence. Clint centric but has all of the team there.

And Coulson didn't die, at least not in my story. Phil Coulson is waaay too awesome to die. I think I'll have to write a separate AU explaining exactly how he lived sometime.

This story is un-beta'd, so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, spelling errors, et cetera. Feel free to point them out to me in a review or PM, and constructive critisism is welcome.

This idea popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I'm pretty sure it's been done before, but I'm also pretty sure it's never been done quite like this...so enjoy.

Disclaimer: I'm not Joss Whedon, or Stan Lee, or Jack Kirby, or anyone else who played any part in the Avengers film...so I don't own any of it but the writing.

* * *

Clint hated light.

He didn't have a good reason for his strange aversion; maybe it was because he had spent more than his fair share of time under the harsh fluorescence of pristine hospitals while he was bleeding to death. Maybe it was because light gave him virtually no cover, leaving him feeling vulnerable and weak. Clint preferred the shadows, where he could hide under the secure blanket of darkness where no one could see him lurking.

Clint could see them, but they couldn't see Clint. That was the way he liked it.

Unfortunately for him, he was on a mission in Hamburg, which was a major city. It seemed to be a general rule that even during the night, every city simply _had _to be lit up like a freaking beacon. There was absolutely _no cover._

It annoyed him to no end, and yet here he was, perched on the darkest rooftop he could find, peering into the high-arched windows belonging to a man named Archibald Krause. The man was grotesquely huge and hairless - there wasn't a single tuft of hair on his head, from what Clint could see of him. Archibald Krause was his target. He was on SHIELD's hit list, had been for months since Baldie came out and admitted to consorting with several of SHIELD's enemies and selling weapons, hiring assassins, etc. Krause had gotten himself into a pretty deep pile of shit and pissed off all of the wrong people in high places...including Nick Fury.

Fury's irritation was why Clint had been sent on this solo mission with one purpose: use whatever means necessary to take Krause out before the guy started World War Three. He was getting dangerously close to doing so, too, which was the scary part.

Clint was forced to use a high-tech sniper rifle to do the job instead of his good old-fashioned recurve. Apparently Hawkeye's arrows wouldn't fit well into the whole incognito part of the mission. His signature arrows had resulted in him becoming world-famous, a fact that Clint was enormously proud of, but sometimes it was a pain to be known for his expert marksmanship.

_"How you doing, Barton?" _Phil's voice came through staticy on the comms. _  
_

"I need to get closer. Can't see anything from my vantage point," Clint muttered, peering through his high-tech binoculars.

_"Let me know when you've got a better position."_

Clint complied, folding up the gun and shoving it into a black case. He started down the fire escape, not really using the stairs so much as flinging himself over the railing one level at a time. He jumped from the last landing and hit the cobbled ground in an agile crouch.

Slinging the rifle bag over his shoulder, Clint briskly began walking down the alley towards another building that he knew would have less cover but a better shot at his target. No one saw him.

Seeing was very different from noticing.

Clint crossed the dimly lit street to the other building and began expertly scaling the usefully-ridged walls. It was a skill he had learned all those years ago in the circus and it had recently earned him the gracious title of 'Chimpeye' from Tony. Clint had scowled at the billionaire when he had mentioned the nickname, who had melted under the archer's intense glare, but he couldn't deny that he was becoming a Spiderman wannabe. It was a bit of a problem.

Clint reached the top of the building and hauled himself over the edge. He immediately flattened himself on the roof and crawled skillfully over to where he could see through Krause's window. Clint had spent two days observing the man's living patterns. When the criminal was home, which he was, he usually came for a late-night snack right about -there.

Krause came through the doorway of his kitchen and yawned. Grabbing cold takeout from the fridge, Krause plopped down on the leather couch and grabbed the remote, pointing it at something out of Clint's view -the television.

This was too easy. Krause might as well tape a sign to the back of his shiny bald head reading, "I'm over here, come blow my brains out!"

Clint's finger rested on the trigger. He squinted through the eyepiece of his gun and focused the back of Krause's head in his sight.

Clint tapped his comm device. "I'm in position."

"You're clear to take the shot, Barton," Coulson instructed.

Clint counted silently backwards in his head.

_Three..._

_Two..._

_One._

He pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet tore through the glass of his target's apartment and into the base of his skull. The shot had been muffled by the silencer on his gun.

"Krause is out," Clint spoke to his comm in an offhand manner that only assassins could manage.

_"Job well done, Clint. Make your way to the extraction point. Call us in when you get there." _

The man had had no family to speak of. No one would miss him; that always had made Clint's job easier to carry out. No ties, no one to seek vengeance or revenge.

Clint packed up the gun into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He adjusted the pack so it wasn't rubbing so painfully against the knife strapped to his waist, and shimmied back down the side of the wall. He hit the ground with barely a sound and wiped his dirty hands on his shiny black bulletproof jacket. The bulletproof part had been courtesy of Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. It had even saved his life on a mission in Nepal.

Clint turned to hurry away from the scene. He began to hum a tune absentmindedly under his breath as he turned away.

Clint hadn't even gotten to the third note when the apartment complex that Archibald Krause had resided in abruptly exploded and Clint was thrown off of his feet and back into the alley that he had just emerged from.

Phil Coulson went stiff as he heard Clint's comm fill with static.

* * *

I've given up. I can't restrain myself from starting new stories once I've gotten an idea into my head, so why bother trying?

I think this will be my main story for a while, though. I've almost got 'Promise' and 'The Reflectionist' wrapped up (maybe), 'Jacquelyn' and 'Hell and Back' are kinda on hiatus, and 'Barney' can be an on-and-off kind of thing. So stay tuned. This is just the prologue, by the way. The chapters will get longer... they always do for me.

I'm free to beta anything, and I'm always looking for a good beta for my fics as always. Check out my other stories in my profile...most of 'em are works in progress though, and they're mostly Hawkeye, no slash, angsty humor...if you like that kind of stuff.

And if you know anything about me or have read a single one of my stories, you'd know that I like blackmail. So here's my bribe: reviewers get mentioned the next chapter! So review. Please? :D

Ciao,

-aporia


	2. Scars

I officially have this story beta'd by DevinBoudain, who also happens to be the most amazing beta in the world. Check out their profile if you can!

Disclaimer: Not mine. If it was, I'd be rich and famous and I wouldn't have to use a penname.

* * *

_Previous__ chapter:_

_The apartment complex that Archibald Klause had resided in abruptly exploded and Clint was thrown off of his feet and back into the alley that he had just emerged from._

_Phil Coulson went stiff as he heard Clint's comm fill with static._

* * *

It was every handler's worst nightmare to call out their agent's name and hear silence in return. Phil would gladly take a bullet over that any day.

It was more the idea of _not knowing _that got to him more than the meaningless crackling did. If you knew your agent wasn't dead, there was relief. If your agent _was _dead, at least you could mourn. The only thing that came with _not knowing _was hope, and hope was probably the shittiest idea humankind had ever come up with.

That was his present opinion, at least.

"Fury, we have a problem." If Fury had heard Coulson's voice crack, he didn't mention it. "Clint...Barton's been compromised."

"What happened?" There was no emotion in Fury's voice. He could have been asking about the weather.

"The operation was running smoothly -Agent Barton took the target down. Four minutes after he confirmed it, the line went dead. I'm going to send in a team..."

There was a long pause in which Fury didn't answer him.

"Fury?"

"No need for sending a team in, Coulson."

"Why's that, sir?" Awful scenarios began running through Phil's mind.

"Saarland University Hospital just called. They just brought in a man matching Agent Barton's description. He was found near the target's apartment."

Coulson's breath hitched. "Alive?"

"For the moment. I'm having him transferred to our SHIELD hospital in Germany as soon as he's stable."

_When, _not _if._ It was a small reassurance...but it was a hell of a lot more comfort than he'd had two minutes ago.

"And Phil?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Just..." Coulson heard a sigh. "Prepare yourself. It's not pretty."

The director hung up, and Coulson spent several seconds staring at the silent phone trying to get his nerves under control. Shaking his head to clear it, Coulson redialed another number and listened to it ring.

There was a beep as a familiar voice picked up. "Coulson?"

"Stark, we have a problem. Prep the team for a flight to Germany immediately."

* * *

Natasha sighed and looked out her window at the rolling white clouds amidst the clear blue sky. Any other day, it would have been perfect.

Today was certainly _not _any other day.

The five of them sat in tense silence on Tony's private jet, every Avenger fully aware of the absence of one of their own. Steve was busy 'reading' an ancient-looking book, though his mind was obviously elsewhere -he hadn't turned the page for the past thirty minutes. Thor was flipping through a magazine, his expression growing more intrigued with each picture. Bruce was sleeping stiffly and Tony was keeping his mouth shut for once and looking through his phone, though he was fidgeting. _  
_

After an hour with no one saying a word, Steve looked up from his book and glanced at Stark. "Are we almost there?"

Tony shrugged. "I dunno. Ask Jarvis."

Bruce opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "You have Jarvis here?"

"Jarvis is everywhere. He is all-seeing."

"That's a little creepy," Bruce muttered under his breath loud enough for them all to hear.

Natasha glanced up. _"Everywhere? _Like, in our bathrooms everywhere? Because Stark, if I find out that you've been -"

Tony held up his hands defensively. "It's not like I check the feed unless it's absolutely necessary. And Jarvis isn't a perv."

_"Necessary?"_ Natasha shook her head in disbelief.

Before the conversation could mutate into a full-out argument, Jarvis's disembodied voice echoed through the plane.

"There's only thirty minutes until we land at SHIELD's airfield. I suggest that you prepare to depart the aircraft."

"Thanks, Jarvis," Tony said absentmindedly, and the AI went quiet. Natasha gave Tony one last glare in an attempt to wordlessly convey that she hadn't fully dropped the subject. The rest of the ride was as silent as it had been before.

The SHIELD base in Germany was connected to the hospital. When they arrived, a no-nonsense looking woman with greying hair and a blue lab coat greeted them.

"You're that superhero team. You here for Barton?" Her accent was clearly American.

"Yes, we are," Steve said in a quiet monotone.

The woman's expression flickered. "This way. I'm his doctor - Kathy Joyce. But I've got to warn you...he's not looking too good."

The complex was more of a maze than the New York one was. They turned so many times that Natasha almost lost track of where they were going. Almost.

The few people who passed them in the halls gave them revering looks, and though most of them were directed at Steve, it still made Natasha feel uncomfortable. Attention was more Tony's thing. She was better suited to subtlety.

They reached a door and the Joyce pushed it open into the small waiting room. There were five chairs conveniently lined up against the wall. She sighed and turned to them. "Normally, I'd say that he shouldn't be taking visitors -"

There were cries of protest, and she held up a hand.

"-But I'll let it pass. He's still unconscious and a little unstable. You and you -" she pointed at Thor and Bruce, "stay here. I've heard about you two, and I don't really trust that you won't break anything when you see what condition he's in."

Thor looked dejected, but didn't argue. Bruce resignedly sat down.

Joyce ushered the other three in and Natasha almost gasped as she saw the condition of the unconscious archer.

He lay on the hospital bed shirtless. His mouth was tightly shut and there was an IV hooked up to his arm. One side of his face was raw and bloody and there were several burns littering his body, the most noticeable being a red one on his arm. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his breathing was labored. Beside his bed was a steadily beeping heart monitor. Natasha sat down in the chair next to the bed and laid her hand over his, her face betraying no emotion. Tony and Steve stood awkwardly behind her.

Natasha leaned forward and whispered into Clint's ear. "I swear if you ever scare us like this again, I'll kick your ass."

"Glad to know you cared," a familiar voice chuckled.

She froze.

"Not that I doubted you or anything." Clint had an amused smile on his face. He opened his eyes.

Abruptly, his slightly amused expression turned to one of confusion. He sat up and lifted a hand up to his face, barely brushing his cheekbone.

"Natasha," Clint said in a calm, yet somehow unsteady voice, "Is there something covering my eyes?"

Natasha glanced at him. He was sitting up, and looking at a point slightly to her left. His eyes were wild and oddly light.

Joyce took a step forward and laid a hand gently on his wrist. "Clint, listen to me -"

"No!" The archer recoiled, feeling around for the IV tube and yanking it out of his arm. "Don't give me that shit! I'm not -"

Clint's always calm façade had broken, and his expression had morphed into raw panic.

"Clint!" It was Steve. Steve rushed forward and pushed him back down onto the bed, but he got back up, glaring into the space where Steve had been.

Clint glanced to where he thought Joyce was. "You're my doctor?" He asked in a slightly calmer voice.

"Yes." She moved to where Clint's gaze was focused.

"Is it..." Clint's voice broke slightly. "Is it permanent?"

Natasha knew that Clint would hate the expression of pity evident on her face if he could see it. "I don't know. It's possible..." she paused and heaved a sigh. "It's likely you'll never see again...but who knows. With injuries like these, we can't be certain. We'll see."

Clint slumped back dejectedly. Natasha could see the barely restrained emotion on his face.

"Who else is here?"

"Tony, Steve and Dr. Joyce are all in the room. Bruce and Thor are waiting outside," Natasha answered softly.

"Where am I?"

"SHIELD hospital in Germany."

"I'm in a hospital?" He asked rhetorically, and chuckled humorlessly. "I'm fine, except for being _blind_. I don't need a hospital."

"Clint, you're bleeding. You need to rest," Dr. Joyce tried to persuade him, but he was having none of it.

"I'll heal." He reached for the bed's railing and hauled himself over the edge, then groped for the wall until Tony placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. Clint brushed it off with a snarl. "I told you I'm _fine."_

He found the door and curled a shaking hand around the handle, turning it.

"Clint, lay down!"

Bruce and Thor looked up as the archer staggered through the door. Bruce stood up hurriedly. "What happened?"

"I'm fucking _blind,_ that's what happened," Clint growled, colliding with a chair and crashing to the ground.

Bruce hurried forward to help but Clint stood up and punched him in the face without a moment's hesitation. Bruce recoiled and his eyes flashed momentarily green as Clint practically fell into the door, pushed it open and disappeared into the hallway.

"Let me guess," Bruce gasped, rubbing his cheek, "Clint doesn't take well to being in hospitals?"

Tony snorted. "Clint doesn't take well to being blind, that's what."

"Blind?" Thor stood up and looked at Tony confusedly. "He cannot see? How did he know where your face was?"

"Lucky guess," Bruce chuckled drily.

They heard someone in the hallway shout.

"We'd better go check on that," Steve muttered. "He's going to get himself hurt."

The team hurried after their friend.

* * *

Again, thanks to DevinBourdain for beta-ing and the reviewers of the last chapter - piperijanayalex, anonymous32123, horselover28, GalynSolo and weemcg33. You guys rock.

Feedback is great as well. Drop a review in if you have time :)

Ciao,

-aporia99


	3. The Confidante

Disclaimer: I tried to give 50% to Marvel, 50% to my reviewers and 50% to DevinBourdain, but if you know anything about basic first grade math, you'd know that my logic just wouldn't work._  
_

A/N: I can see (go figure) so I'm only speculating here as to what it would be like to be blind.

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_Clint practically fell into the door, pushed it open and disappeared into the hallway._

_"Let me guess; Clint doesn't take well to being in hospitals?"_

_Tony snorted. "Clint doesn't take well to being blind, that's what."_

_They heard someone in the hallway shout._

_"We'd better go check on that," Steve muttered. "He's going to get himself hurt."_

_The team hurried after their friend._

* * *

Coulson hurried down the hallway of the hospital, following the briskly walking SHIELD agent through the labyrinth of corridors. He'd been to the complex before, but had been confined to a designated area of the base. He had no idea that the place was so _big._

After twisting through what seemed like miles of the same identical hallways, they heard a woman's shout echo off the walls.

"What was that?" Coulson asked with the usual level of authority in his voice.

The man, a young intern, shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted hesitantly. "This is supposed to be the area where Agent Barton's room is in, but -"

Coulson didn't hear the 'but' - he had already pushed past him and around the corner.

Before him was a violently swearing woman who winced while picking herself off the ground, loose sheets of paper scattered haphazardly around her. Further down the hallway, a shirtless man pushed past various annoyed-looking agents and clumsily flung himself through a door. He was turned away so that Coulson wasn't able to see his face, but he was almost positive that it had been an extremely disoriented Clint.

The door directly in front of Coulson was pushed open and five very familiar faces rushed out, nearly colliding with him.

Tony snorted as he spotted the agent. "What a coincidence," he drawled. "Come to join the party?"

Coulson wasted no time in getting to the point. "My flight was delayed. What happened?"

The door had opened again and a middle-aged woman stepped out. Having heard Coulson's question, she answered. "Long story short, Agent Barton reacted strongly to the situation."

"What's the long story long?" He wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know, but he asked anyways.

Natasha interrupted before the conversation could carry further. "In case you haven't noticed," she announced icily, "Agent Barton is blind and loose in a SHIELD hospital. If no one else cares, I'm going to go get him before he makes a mess of things." She gave them another of her renowned glares, then turned and sprinted down the hallway in the direction that Clint had gone.

Steve made a move to follow her, but Coulson stopped him with his words. "No, don't. As good as your reasoning skills are, I doubt that anyone could get through to him except for Natasha. Or find him, for that matter," he added as an afterthought. "Let her do her thing."

The rest of the team looked reluctant but complied as Clint's doctor ushered them back into the waiting room.

"Now," he continued, strictly business again, "what's this about him being blind?"

They quickly filled him in and Coulson's expression grew more and more sombre with every word.

"So there's no hope for getting his vision back?" Coulson pried, but Dr. Joyce shook her head.

"I didn't say that. We took some brain scans earlier - it looks like the damage to his vision is caused by a head injury as opposed to the eyes themselves."

Tony frowned. "That's bad, right?"

"Mostly," Bruce cut in before Joyce could respond. "It's hard to cure and hard to predict...but it's possible."

Tony nodded determinedly. "Clint can do the _im_possible. Possible shouldn't be an issue."

Coulson smiled. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

* * *

Natasha reached the stairwell that the irritated SHIELD agents had pointed her to and pushed opened the door. There were nine levels in the hospital. She was currently on level two.

_Where would Clint go?_ She mused, and her mind immediately supplied an answer; _up._

Of course he would go to the roof; he hadn't been given the nickname of 'Hawkeye' for nothing.

She leapt up the stairs two at a time, her footsteps echoing loudly on the steps. She steadied herself with a hand on the railing and reached the top floor without breaking a sweat.

She felt the open window before she had seen it -a cold draft blew gently on her back and she turned. _No way. _

He had climbed out the window and up onto the roof. Normally she wouldn't think anything of it, but under the circumstances...

Natasha kicked off her shoes, swung her legs out into the air and looked out.

The edge of the roof was only five feet above. To her left, the edge of another windowsill stuck out helpfully. Natasha braced her hands against the two protruding edges of the windows and placed her feet in the indentations on the white brick wall. Slowly, she began to inch upwards.

Arms trembling slightly, Natasha grasped the ledge and hauled herself onto its slightly wet surface. She nearly lost her grip, but strong hands caught her and pulled her up. She collapsed on the roof, drawing in a shaky breath and looked at the man who had steadied her.

"Clint?" She ventured cautiously.

"You shouldn't have followed me," Clint muttered, but there wasn't much malice behind his words.

"Yes, I should have," she disagreed, and when Clint didn't respond she sat down next to him and dangled her feet over the edge of the roof, leaning her head against his shoulder. He didn't lean back.

"It's ironic, isn't it?" Clint asked bitterly and Natasha glanced at him in surprise. "I wanted darkness. I guess I got it." He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. "And it was all my fault, too."

"It wasn't your fault," Natasha argued. "Someone tried to _blow __you up,_ Clint. You honestly can't blame yourself for that."

"If I had been paying attention, I would have known that something was wrong." Clint's voice rose. "I punched Bruce and I knew what the consequences might have been. Can I blame myself for _that?"_

"You're not perfect. You weren't thinking, and you had a good reason not to be. Clint, why do you keep trying to blame yourself?"

Clint looked like he was about to offer a retort, but he bit it back down. Instead, he shut his eyes tightly and drew in a breath. When he opened them, his eyes were filled with pain. "How will I shoot if I can't even see the target? My eyes are useless. Natasha, what if..." he swallowed. "What if it doesn't go away? What if it's_ permament?_"

She struggled for an answer. "You could always train new recruits," she supplied weakly.

"Train recruits?" Clint shook his head in disbelief. "I might as well be at a desk job. No, scratch that -I wouldn't be able to see to _do _the desk job." His fists were clenched tightly and his expression was hard. Natasha briefly wondered how he projected himself as being so calm. In her entire life, she'd never seen him break down like he had earlier despite all of the trauma in his life.

"You could go on undercover ops. No one would suspect someone like you -"_  
_

"A blind guy? No one would _ever _suspect someone like me because I'm so..." he struggled for a word. "I'm so damn _helpless_."

"No, you're not," she insisted. "Clint, if there's anything you're _not, _it's helpless. Do me a favor and take some credit for once in your life."

He didn't say anything, instead gazing into the red-tinged horizon that Natasha knew he couldn't appreciate.

"Come in to SHIELD, at least," Natasha implored him. "Give yourself a chance."

Clint was silent for a moment, and then sighed dejecttedly. "All right. For you." He turned his head towards her and she could swear that his gaze was so intently focused on her eyes that for a moment it was as if he could see her - and then it was gone. "But only for a while."

She sighed and nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see the motion.

Natasha decided that she would cross the 'only for a while' bridge when it came.

* * *

Another chapter done :) For all of you procrastination-prone authors out there, here's a tip: GET A BETA. And they (or at least DevinBourdain) catch so many mistakes that you'd never think you'd make, plus betas give you great ideas, great input, generally improve your skills as a writer...I could go on.

And sorry if this chapter is a little uneventful. I had a severe case of writer's block. Next chapter will be interesting, I promise.

And thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: anonymous32123, Dsgdiva, RosemaryGirl, piperijanayalex, psychioticcowz, hawaiichick, horselover28 and staplerman3.

Ciao,

-aporia99


	4. Liabilities

Disclaimer: Avengers isn't mine. If it was, all of the characters would have had forced Australian accents and the movie probably wouldn't be PG-13.

A/N: I've realized that (besides the prologue) I haven't done a chapter from Clint's POV. It's very difficult describing things from the perspective of a blind person, let me tell you that. Everything had to be "he imagined" or "heard, smelled, memorized," etc.

And also: I'm not blind (surprise! Who knew, right?) so tell me if my info's innacurate. Or if there are errors or anything (any errors are likely to be mine that I put in after it was edited, not the mistakes of my beta, DevinBourdain. It's impossible for DevinBourdain to make mistakes, I swear.)

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"Come in to SHIELD, at least," Natasha implored him. "Give yourself a chance."_

_Clint was silent for a moment, and then sighed dejecttedly. "All right. For you." He turned his head towards her and she could swear that his gaze was so intently focused on her eyes that for a moment it was as if he could see her - and then it was gone. "But only for a while."_

_She sighed and nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see the motion._

_Natasha decided that she would cross the 'only for a while' bridge when it came._

* * *

Their incessant attempts to coax Clint back into his hospital bed went without avail, and he became the first-ever blind patient to escape the hospital's custody while still sporting major injuries. Eventually, Clint's stubbornness had won over SHIELD and its protocol (as it always did) and Coulson went through a stack of important-sounding papers that he didn't really give a damn about. When Clint was finally free to leave the headache-inducing chaos, he was led by Steve through the building and onto Tony's private jet along with the other four Avengers and Phil.

The ride back to New York was the most awkward eight hours that he had ever endured in his life. Though he couldn't see the concerned glances that his six companions sent his way, he knew they were there. Tony tried to make small talk, per usual, but Clint didn't join in the casual bantering. He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, briefly wondering if he'd be able to fall asleep with his eyes open now that there was no light to bother him.

His dream was fleeting and distant, and when Clint woke up seven hours later to Jarvis's thirty-minutes-until-landing announcement, he didn't remember much of it - only darkness.

As they stepped off of the plane and into the beating sun, Clint was aware of two presences hovering on either side of him. A hand rested on his left shoulder protectively. His initial response was that of relief, and then a wave of anger directed at both himself for even _feeling _relief and that he would need to be protected at all.

Clint casually brushed the hand off of his shoulder and continued walking.

There was the sound of a door opening and Clint stepped through. The hot cement beneath his feet changed to a cool tile, and added to the conversations that were taking place around him, Clint immediately perceived that to mean that they had entered the SHIELD lobby.

"Agent Coulson," a man's voice acknowledged respectfully. The respect quickly transformed into revere when he noticed the six legends standing behind the agent. "Avengers. Right this way, Director Fury is expecting you."

The texture beneath Clint's feet changed yet again, this time from hard tile to a short carpet. Clint visualized a map of SHIELD Headquarters and pinpointed their location. They were at the south entrance, and if his map was accurate, they'd be nearing Fury's office right about...now.

The door's lock clicked open and they filed in to the mahogany-scented room. He could hear the steady tapping of fingers against a computer's keyboard cease as they came in and Clint imagined Fury looking up and fixing him with a hard one-eyed stare.

"Thank you, Coulson, Ferrari. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," Ferrari's voice responded, and Clint subsequently heard two pairs of footsteps strode back out of the room.

"Well?" The word was harsh and indirectly thrown at Clint. He winced and tried to make himself appear insignificant.

There was a pause as the group tried to figure out how to respond. Finally, the archer spoke. "There was an explosion -"

"I know." Fury's voice was immediate.

"There were negative side effects," Clint continued.

"I am aware."

"So you know that I'm..." He didn't want to finish, but Fury did it for him.

"Blind? Yes. Coulson told me everything. What I _want _to know is if you have yourself under control," Fury clarified, and Clint huffed.

"Yes, sir, I do," Clint lied, and hoped that Fury couldn't detect the doubt in his voice.

"Oh, really?" _Shit... _"I heard from a certain SHIELD doctor that you had an emotional breakdown at the hospital. _Are _you under control, Agent Barton, or are you just _telling _me that?"

_Damn you, Kathy Joyce. _"I will be, sir."

There was a pause. Clint suspected that Fury was scrutinizing and he self-consciously stood up a little straighter.

"Avengers, will you excuse us for a moment?"

"But -" Tony protested, but a second later there was a dull _thud _as Fury slammed his fist on the deskand Tony went silent.

"Come on, Iron Ass," Natasha muttered softly. Seconds later the other five Avengers left, the door had clicked shut again. Clint could vaguely hear Tony and Natasha quietly arguing out in the hallway and an imperceptible smile crossed his lips.

"Sit down." The grin was gone as Clint sighed, moving further into the room and sitting in the chair that he knew would be there. Clint did his best to look up to where he thought Fury would be, but he suspected that he had been missing Fury's intense gaze. He felt as if he were in the principal's office, which was ridiculous because he'd never even gone to school.

"Clint, you're not going to like this..." Fury began. Clint was silent, guessing what was coming next.

"You can't work as a SHIELD agent. I was thinking about assigning you to train new recruits, but..." he hesitated. "You've been given a leave from SHIELD. Until you get your sight back, you're a liability that we can't afford to have."

Ouch. Fury was the most to-the-point guy he'd ever met.

Clint nodded silently. He had already known that he wouldn't get to be an agent anymore, but he didn't think that he would be _kicked out _of SHIELD because he was a damn _liability. _

"May I be dismissed, sir?" Clint asked stiffly.

"Yes, but -"

Clint left the door swinging shut in Fury's face before he could figure out what the 'but' was.

He pushed past his friends, muttering, "don't follow me, I'm all right," and walked down the straight, easy-to-navigate hallway, making himself slow down so that he didn't run into another poor SHIELD woman and cause her to spill her papers. He kept his ears keenly tuned for any incoming agents. He had a mental map of SHIELD laid out in his head, and he turned corners purposefully with a specific destination in mind.

Clint slowed as he heard a pair of footsteps approaching, and quickly slowed his pace, putting on his best _you-don't-mess-with-me-cause-i'm-Hawkeye _face - or the best that he could manage blind.**  
**

He rounded the corner and there was a moment of shocked silence.

_"Holy shit," _a man's voice breathed just loudly enough for the archer to hear. He knew the guy's voice -Clint had been in training with him. The agent had been second-best in the class, after himself. His name was Crayson. Crawman...Crawson, that was it.

Clint heard the clicking of a walkie talkie and a second man's voice yelling as the two turned and sprinted down the hall - away from Clint. "Code red, code red, Agent Barton is under the influence of -"

Then it clicked.

Clint began running after the two agents. "I'm not POSSESSED, you idiots, I'm fucking BLIND!" Clint shouted. The footsteps stopped and Clint caught up to them.

"Don't come any closer, or I'll...I'll use this!" the second threatened needlessly. Clint could imagine them waving a gun around and he grinned drily.

"No need, fellas. If you haven't noticed, I'm unarmed." Clint spread his arms out, displaying his empty weapons arsenal for the two of them to see.

When Crawson spoke, his voice was still uneasy. "You don't need weapons. You're _Clint Barton_."

"I'm _flattered." _Clint snorted, "but as you said, I'm Clint Barton. Not Loki."

There was a hesitant pause. "You're really blind?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Explosion in Hamburg - it's temporary, don't worry."

He hoped he had convinced them -he didn't need rumors spread throughout the world that the famous Hawkeye was blind.

"Now if you'll excuse me..." Clint shoved past them and continued down the hallway.

_I think I handled that rather well, _he thought smugly.

Clint reached a secluded hallway and ran his hand against the plaster wall, feeling each door's sign in Braille (he had picked the skill up from his time as a mercenary) and stopped when he reached an empty lab that hadn't been in use in years.

There was a system of air ducts running throughout the building, and a particularly easily accessible entrance to them in this room. He stood on the wooden stool that was conveniently placed directly beneath the entrance, deftly leaping into the ducts and sliding the grate back into its original position that he had moved it from; he began to crawl.

_Left, right, left, left..._

He had debated going to Fury's office to eavesdrop, but he already knew what they were talking about - him. He didn't need any new information to add to his stress, not to mention that Natasha might realize he was there.

Instead, he was content to lie on his back in the ducts for a while, reminiscing about the past few hours.

His mind was confused and jumbled, and it took him a while to make sense of it. For one of the few times in his life, Clint realized that he was scared - scared at the new and confusing thought of being the _weak _one, the one that leaned on everyone else instead of them leaning on _him. _He was a target now to the wrong people. Without his sight, he couldn't shoot. He couldn't be Hawkeye.

He didn't know if he could be himself.

And then there was Natasha. She had been nothing but helpful and supportive so far, but would she really want to be with a blind guy for the rest of her days? It was doubtful. How long would she and the rest of his team keep him around before they decided that he was an inconvenience?

No shooting, no sight, no Natasha, no team. Everything that he lived for was simply gone.

_What am I going to do with my life? _

The full impact of his reality was slowly setting in. His mind hadn't completely accepted the idea of being _blind_, not yet. Maybe it would, someday. Maybe...

His phone vibrated and brought him out of his mulling. He reached into his pocket and brought it out.

Thankfully he had had the insight while on the plane to have Tony set his phone so that it spoke instead of displaying text on the screen. A woman's robot-like voice recited into his ear: _"Call from: Наташа Романова." _

Natasha.

He hit the decline button and spent a few more seconds staring into the darkness. Maybe when he got out of the ducts the light would come flooding back in as it always did.

_Left, left, right, left..._

On his way back, he passed several SHIELD agents, and though none of them called security as the first had done (word spread fast) he could sense strange looks aimed at his retreating back.

_I have to get myself some sunglasses._

* * *

Sorry if this chapter is a teensy bit late. I was really caught up with school (darn curriculum leaves no space for FF) so I didn't finish typing it up until 11:00 pm yesterday. I'm an awful person, I know.

Thanks to previous chapter's reviewers: anonymous32123, onfire99, psychioticcowz, piperijanayalex, horselover28, Bookdancer, 1timer1, and Nakova. You guys are awesome.

Look for an update soon ...sooner if you review! :D

Ciao,

-aporia99


	5. Good as Dead

Disclaimer: I own the Avengers. I'm also a two-inch-tall fluffy purple bunny with a fascinating knack for English.

Bookdancer: AAAAH. Sorry about the A/N...it was meant for DevinBourdain, my beta, and I forgot to delete it (completely my fault).

And about the 'decline' button...I figured that since tons of teens can text without looking at the keyboard, declining a call shouldn't be a problem.

piperijanayalex: Thanks for the great ideas! I'll be sure to use them! :D

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_His phone vibrated and brought him out of his mulling. He reached into his pocket and brought it out._

_Thankfully he had had the insight while on the plane to have Tony set his phone so that it spoke instead of displaying text on the screen. A woman's robot-like voice recited into his ear: "Call from: Наташа Романова."_

_Natasha._

_He hit the decline button and spent a few more seconds staring into the darkness. Maybe when he got out of the ducts the light would come flooding back in as it always did._

_Left, left, right, left..._

_On his way back, he passed several SHIELD agents, and though none of them called security as the first had done (word spread fast) he could sense strange looks aimed at his retreating back._

_I have to get myself some sunglasses._

* * *

_"Call from:__ Наташа Романова."_

The phone in his pocket buzzed as Clint agilely dropped out of the vent hole in the ceiling. He pulled out his phone and pushed open the door.

_"__Call from: Наташа Романова,"_ his phone informed him again.

"Alright," Clint muttered, and hit where he knew the 'answer' button to be. An angry voice immediately bellowed into his ear, and it was difficult for him to discern what it was saying.

_"Clint, where have you been?" _Natasha's voice was fuzzy. _"Tony already left in his suit, everyone else took a taxi back to the tower and I've been waiting for you for thirty minutes!"_

_I've been gone that long?_ Clint brooded briefly. "You didn't need to wait for me, I'm fine."

_"I wanted to. I was worried..."_

_Worried because I'm too unstable to be on my own, _Clint frowned, but didn't voice the thought. "You're still with Fury?"

_"Yes,"_ she grumbled. _"Hurry, we're not waiting any longer."_

_You'd think it was a life-or-death situation, _he mused as he hung up on the call and briskly began walking in the direction of Fury's office.

Natasha's glare was so strong that Clint could practically feel it when he arrived. For the first time, he was glad that he couldn't see - otherwise, he would probably be cowering in fear.

Her steely grip grasped his wrist and she dragged him down the hall, past the receptionist desk and out the door onto the sidewalk. Clint figured that it was evening from the temperature and the sound levels of the city.

He heard a car skid. "Watch your step," Natasha warned as they stepped off of the curb. "We're taking a taxi back."

Clint felt in front of him for the cool metal of the cab door and stepped inside. The taxi was fresh-smelling and clean. Clint immediately hated it; the scent clouded his nose and took away one of his precious four remaining senses.

Thirty minutes later the cab slowed to a stop and Clint unlocked his door, pushing it open and breathing in the fresh air. He was again guided by Natasha into the tower.

"Welcome, Mr. Barton and Ms. Romanov," Jarvis's lilt filled Clint's ears as he stepped into Tony's elevator. The doors slid shut in near-silence and they effortlessly began the climb to the top.

"Clint!" He heard his name as the doors opened, and he looked toward Tony's voice.

"Yeah?" He asked as he stepped out and headed in the direction of the living room.

_"Shit!" _Clint stumbled over a stool and crashed to the ground. "Who moved the furniture?"

He heard several pairs of feet moving towards him. "Clint, are you-"

I'm _fine_,"he growled, getting back on his feet and putting a hand out in front of him, searching for Tony's couch.

"Sorry," Tony apologized guiltily. "Pepper must have rearranged everything yesterday. We didn't know about...well. The couch is to your left."

Clint found it and plopped down, sighing. There was an awkward silence.

"Well, what were you going to tell me?" he prompted, and Tony began enthusiastically.

"Right. Well, Bruce and I were in the lab earlier, and we were thinking-"

"We made a pair of sunglasses," Bruce interrupted plainly. Tony glared at him for ruining the surprise and elaborated.

"They're super high-tech and they'll tell you if you're going to run into any walls, and I _really_ wanted to install lasers in them but Bruce was worried that too much stuff would be destroyed if I did..."

Clint blinked.

"...Plus they'll give you a whole facial ID of who you're talking to, and I uploaded a mini Jarvis to them -he'll tell you everything you need to know. Not bad for an hour's work, right?"

"You made this all in an _hour?_" Clint asked in disbelief as sunglasses were placed in his hand. He unfolded them and put them on. A machine whirred and a soft voice heard only by himself spoke into his ear.

_"Welcome, Mr. Barton." _It was just like Jarvis's voice.

"Yep," Tony said happily. "I'm a genius."

There was a moment of pointed silence.

"Bruce is, too, of course," Tony added hastily. "He was my assistant."

"Assistant? You'd be screwed -"

"Thanks, you guys," Clint tried to smile, but he suspected that it looked more like an unnaturally stretched grimace.

"Wait, we have something else. We made you a cane. It's not as awesome as the sunglasses but it shoots these special darts - "

_A cane. A cane for the disabled blind archer-wannabe who can't find his way around without running into walls and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. Plus they shoot things, which is worse because I can't even see what I'm shooting at..._

"Thanks," Clint said shortly. "Listen, I'm going to go bed." Clint snapped off the sunglasses and placed them in his pocket next to his phone.

He heard Natasha move forward. "Do you need help -"

_"No!" _Clint lost it and he could feel several gazes land on him cautiously. He took a breath. _In, out. _"I'm fine. I can find my way to my damn _room,_ unless you moved that on me too." He tried not to let sarcasm drip into his voice, but it was difficult.

_I'm going to have to get lessons from Bruce about anger management._

Clint stepped out of the room and made his way down the hall. He ran a hand against the wall and counted.

_One, two, three...third door on the left. That's it._

He stepped in and sniffed. There was a faint aroma of lavender - Pepper had been in here recently. He huffed, hoping that she hadn't moved the furniture, and threw himself onto the soft bed.

There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head to keep track of. He didn't remember falling asleep, but sooner or later his eyes had closed and he sunk into nothingness.

* * *

Bruce, Natasha and Steve sat quietly around the kitchen table in a tense silence. Natasha and Bruce both had steaming mugs of tea sitting in front of them, but they remained untouched. The Captain seemed transfixed by the self-indulgent Iron Man poster Stark had insisted be displayed in the kitchen. The three were lost in thought until Tony stepped into the room announcing, "Clint just jumped out the window, if anyone needed an update."

Natasha looked up sharply. _"What?"_

"Spiderman-style. You know how he is. Jarvis just told me."

"Well, where did he go?" Steve asked after a second. Tony raised an eyebrow at him.

"You think I'd have told you if I knew?" He snorted.

"Why aren't you having Jarvis track him or something?" Bruce asked. "There's a GPS in his sun-"

"He doesn't have his sunglasses with him," Tony interrupted. "He was taking a nap, then woke up, sulked for a while and then jumped out the window."

Natasha and Steve stood up simultaneously. "I'm going after him," Natasha announced, and then glanced at Steve. "You're not coming."

Steve sat back down, looking downcast.

Tony looked skeptical. "How do you know where he went?"

"I have a hunch." With that said, Natasha turned and ran out of the room.

* * *

Clint thanked the cab driver and counted over four bills, hoping that they were ones as he stepped out onto the dark street. He was about to turn away when the driver rolled down his window.

"Sir, you gave me too much -it's only four dollars -"

"Keep the change!" Clint called over his back. _It's Tony's money anyways, he has plenty more. _

Clint followed the muffled din to the heavy glass door that guarded the entrance of the bar. A high-pitched bell chimed as Clint stepped into the smoky room. The interior was loud and the atmosphere was thick with heavy smoke that settled on his skin. Clint coughed as he entered.

Clint hadn't brought either his sunglasses or his cane with him because he was too stubborn, but now he was wishing that he had. It was difficult to navigate around all of the people and he ran into several bodies on his way to the counter. Eventually reaching the stool, he hopped up.

"Anything to drink?" The bartender asked him, and he nodded vigorously.

"The strongest drink you have," Clint raised his voice over the din and heard her bustle off.

After his third drink, he felt a hand on his shoulder and tensed.

"You blind?" A voice asked him and Clint turned, glaring in the direction of the voice. Two other men laughed. "Yeah, he's blind. Can't see a thing."

_Ignore them._

Another voice, a woman's, entered the conversation. "What are you guys doing?"

"Just talking to this blind guy. You know, I feel sorry for him. He's blind _and _mute. Probably deaf too, you know..."

_Ignore them._

"Someone once told me that if you were blind _and _deaf _and _mute you were as good as dead, so I don't think it would matter if -" The man's voice was cut off as Clint drove a satisfying punch into his gut. "Son of a-!"

He rubbed his knuckles with a satisfying grin on his face but almost immediately after, a fist-shaped force slammed into the side of the archer's head.

"Grab his arms!"

_I probably should have waited until I wasn't blind and drunk to beat these guys up, _Clint thought distractedly as his arms were pinned behind him and another fist landed in his stomach. Clint kicked the guys to his right and left and wiggled out of their grasp, winded and gasping. He sprinted towards the direction he had come, knocking down numerous people on his way and pushed the door open into the rain.

He was sure that if he could see the world would be spinning around him. He put a hand out to steady himself, but found nothing and fell to the ground.

"There, he's out here! In the alleyway!"

He heard footsteps splashing in the puddles.

A foot kicked him in the side.

And another.

And another.

He numbly let them fall. He teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, wrapped in a ball with his eyes tightly shut and his arms protecting his face.

Clint let go of reality and passed out.

* * *

I'm SOOOO sorry about the wait! I have no excuses for the late chapter. Well...I actually have several but they're all pretty lame (homework, temporary YouTube obsession, headache, writer's block, etc.) I'm a hypocrite. I hate excuses and then make them myself.

Thanks to last chapter's reviewers - piperijanayalex, Bookdancer, horselover28, ireviewstuff, anonymous32123, psychioticcowz, onfire99, Andrewthegreat1, Helyva12, and rio95000. You guys are the best reviewers in the world :D

Review!

Ciao,

-aporia99


	6. Shivering

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, but I've been formulating an evil plan to blackmail Joss Whedon into giving it to me. Just wait... :D

I don't live in Manhattan, so some of the geography of NYC might be a little off. If so, just tell me in a review or PM and I'll fix it.

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_He was sure that if he could see the world would be spinning around him. He put a hand out to steady himself, but found nothing and fell to the ground._

_"There, he's out here! In the alleyway!"_

_He heard footsteps splashing in the puddles._

_A foot kicked him in the side._

_And another._

_And another._

_He numbly let them fall. He teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, wrapped in a ball with his eyes tightly shut and his arms protecting his face._

_Clint let go of reality and passed out._

* * *

Rain had begun to fall heavily on to the streets below, and Natasha wrapped her arms around her body. For once, she wasn't prepared for the weather, and shivered profusely as she made her way down East 28th. She had made the mistake of not taking a taxi from Stark Tower, and despite her raincoat and jacket, she was completely soaked.

_The Crown _stood boldly before her and she barely glanced at the flashing neon lights above her before pushing open the door into the clamour. This was Clint's favorite bar; if he hadn't gone here after he left, Natasha didn't know where he would be. She hoped that her hunch was right.

Pushing her way past the throng of people, she sat down at the bar, relishing the warmth of the room. The bartender glanced up at Romanoff as she washed a glass. "What do you need?"

Natasha glanced around for a moment before responding. "I was wondering if a man came in here a while ago...brown hair, dark clothes -"

"Blind?" The bartender supplied and Natasha nodded after a moment's hesitation.

The woman shook her head and sighed. "Came in and started causing trouble. You need to keep a closer eye on him...got into a bar fight maybe ten minutes ago and then ran outside."

"A bar fight?" Natasha wasn't sure if she was surprised or not.

"Couple of guys pissed him off. He was gone before anyone could step in."

Natasha hurriedly thanked her and hastened toward the exit, leaving behind the warmth of the bar and stepping back outside into the cold.

The rain was like icy daggers against her skin and she hunched down, casting a quick glance around before her gaze landed on an alley that was almost unnoticeable in the darkness. _  
_

"Clint?" Natasha ventured cautiously as she peered around the corner, expecting the worst.

She almost didn't see his small, dark form huddled against the wall. _"Clint!"_

He didn't raise his head. Natasha sprang forward, her fingers immediately flying to his neck to check for a pulse.

It was there, but it was slow and his skin was as cold as ice. She took off her drenched jacket and wrapped it around him, realizing that it wouldn't help much, but it was a start.

"Clint!" Natasha pleaded again, and he groaned. "Come on..."

_I need help._

She braced herself and tried to pick him up, straining under his weight, but managed to stagger to the entrance to the bar. She slammed into the door and stumbled inside. The room hushed and every eye in the room focused on the limp archer in her arms.

An employee stepped forward and pointed to the back of the bar. "There's a back room," he said, as he pointed, and then turned to the rest of the room. "Can someone help her?" the employee demanded.

Two young men complied, standing up from their spots near the door and reaching out to carry Clint. "Thank you," she gasped, and one nodded at her. Natasha let go and followed behind them. The noise level gradually began to rise and the other patrons began to go about their business again as they made their way to the back room.

"All right," the employee said, shooing the men out as they set Clint down on the table and peeled off his jacket and gloves. "He probably has hypothermia, but he _should_ be fine..." Natasha gasped as she saw the black-and-blue bruises spreading across the archer's skin.

"What _happened?" _the man asked, his eyes wide.

"Bar fight," Natasha said venomously. "I don't know the details...the bartender saw the whole thing, though."

Clint groaned again and shifted, his eyes sightlessly fluttering open at her familiar voice.

"Tasha?" His voice was hoarse and shaky. "What..." He reached up to touch a growing bruise on his temple.

"You okay?" she asked gently and he nodded, then winced as if the motion hurt his head.

"Freezing. Dunno why..."

Natasha turned to the man. "Do you have a spare change of clothes?" she asked, and he nodded. If he noticed the unfocused look in Clint's eyes, he didn't mention it. He got up without a word and left the room.

Natasha pulled out her phone and dialed Tony's number. On the second ring, he picked up.

"Hi, Nat."

"Tony, I need a ride back to your place. Clint's in bad shape..." _again._ "We're at The Crown. It's the bar on 28th."

There was yelling in the background. "We're nearby -we'll be there in a minute. What -"

She hung up on him mid-sentence and turned back to Clint, who was struggling to sit up.

"What happened?" She asked, and he gave a slight shrug.

"Got angry," he muttered, eyes downcast.

"Why?"

"I shouldn't have...I threw the first punch -I was drunk. I don't usually..." he struggled for words, and eventually gave up, shoulders slumping. "I don't know."

Natasha didn't answer, but sat down on the low table next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.

This time, he leaned back.

"Clint!" a voice called from the doorway. Natasha looked up to see Tony barge in. Bruce and Steve followed a millisecond later. They froze when they saw the two of them.

"Are we intruding on something?" Tony asked lamely, and Natasha shook her head.

"Clint needs rest and a change of clothes," she said shortly.

As if on cue, the employee re-entered the room and set a stack of fresh clothes on the table. "He might have hypothermia and he's pretty beat up," the man said with a glance at said patient, and then turned to Bruce.

"Hi," he grinned, and held out a hand which Bruce shook. "I'm Ross Collins -huge fan. I was wondering if you could sign -"

Bruce looked embarrased. "Maybe later," he mumbled and Ross nodded enthusiastically. Tony looked as thiugh he was trying hard not to laugh, and Bruce stuck his tongue out at him after Ross turned his back.

Clint felt around for the stack and began putting on the fresh change of clothes. Steve watched him pull on his shirt, worriedly sneaking a glance at the bruises on his collarbone.

"What happened?" Steve asked curiously and Natasha gave him a warning look after a glance at the archer. "Right," he continued, taking the hint. "We should probably get him back to Stark tower, he's probably unstable-"

"I'm not deaf, you know," Clint interrupted with a surprisingly hostile glare for a blind guy. "No need to talk to me like I'm not here."

Steve looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and Natasha was suddenly glad he couldn't see his expression.

"There's a car waiting outside," Bruce supplied helpfully and the archer nodded. He stood up and Natasha could see him fighting back a wince.

Steve moved forward to help him but Clint shrugged off his hand. "I can walk."

"You need a doctor, Legolas," Tony pointed out.

"Bruce is a doctor," Clint argued, but Natasha shook her head.

"Clint..." she began.

"Talk about it later, okay?" He implored, and she relented after a moment.

_I'm like a mother, _she thought to herself dryly as she let the parade out of the warm bar and into the rain.

* * *

Not as much of a cliffie as the last chapter...maybe I'll put one in the next one!

Seriously, if you like this story, DevinBourdain has a TON of great ones like it. Check them out if you have the time :D

Reviewers of the last chapter: Bookdancer, Piperijanay Alexandria/piperijanayalex, special agent Ali, horselover28, Andrewthegreat1, anonymous32123, onfire99, guest reviewer, and Flaming Crow.

It's my birthday! Review to make me happy! Hehe :D

Ciao,

-aporia99


	7. Time Bomb

Disclaimer: You see, once I claimed that I was Joss Whedon and it resulted in a lot of mental tomato-throwing...so I think it's safe for me to say that I'm not.

If you knew me outside of FF, you'd know that I'm probably the most disorganized person in the world. There were so many mistakes last chapter (they're fixed now, but to the people who read it before I fixed it, I'm really sorry!) Bookdancer and special agent Ali pointed out that I somehow managed to post/repost the chapter...I'm not entirely sure what happened, but thanks to those two reviewers for telling me. Plus I accidentally posted it before it had been gone over by my beta, which explains all of the confusing spelling and grammar mistakes, incorrect information, confusing layout, et cetera. Aagh...I'll try to be more organized from now on, I promise :)

Tony's POV! :D If you want any other perspectives in future chapters, PM or review and I'll try to put that POV in.

Anyways, here's chapter seven...enjoy!

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"You need a doctor, Legolas," Tony pointed out._

_"Bruce is a doctor," Clint argued, but Natasha shook her head._

_"Clint..." she began._

_"Talk about it later, okay?" He implored, and she relented after a moment._

_I'm like a mother, she thought to herself dryly as she let the parade out of the warm bar and into the rain._

* * *

"Did anyone tell you that you're such an _idiot?" _Natasha berated Clint, her frustration apparent as the five Avengers entered the Stark Tower lobby and piled into the small elevator.

"I think it's been mentioned, yes," Clint muttered as he shivered, wrapping himself into a warm blanket. Tony glanced at him nervously. His speech was slightly slurred and he seemed fighting to keep his eyes open as he leaned tiredly against the bar on the elevator wall. He wasn't sure, but Tony thought that there might have been a slight blue tinge to Clint's lips as well.

Bruce noticed it, too. "Mild hypothermia," the doctor mouthed as the door _ding_ed open.

Natasha guided Clint over to the couch and set him down. Tony took a remote and pointed it at the fireplace where a blue flame flared up and flickered gently in the marbled grate. The archer's breathing gradually changed as he fell asleep, and the four of them trekked down the hall and into the kitchen.

"Beer?" Tony offered even though he already knew the answer. He got one out of the fridge for himself and popped the cap, sitting down on the swivel stool next to the other three.

After a moment of silence in which the only sound was Bruce's foot tapping nervously against the floor, Steve shook his head. "No way we're taking him to a hospital," he said. "Not for a stupid bar fight. If we go back he'll get into more trouble than he's already in."

_"_Why does he have to be so _stubborn _all the time?" Natasha griped. "If he'd just..." she threw her hands up in frustration, standing up abruptly and beginning to pace.

Bruce glanced up at her. "He's tougher than you think, Nat," he said quietly. "He's been through a _lot _the past couple of days. If it were anyone else, they'd have broken down completely."

"He _has _broken down," she growled. "I'm pretty sure he's got PTSD, but since he's too stubborn to accept an _actual _doctor -" she checked herself and took a breath. "He's already been suspended from SHIELD. He thinks he's useless, and helpless. He thinks we hate him just because he can't shoot -"

"Of course he feels useless. He can hardly be called an Avenger anymore, can he?" Tony asked, not thinking until Natasha fixed him with a deadly glare.

"He _is _an Avenger," she glowered at him. "Who cares if he can shoot?"

"Fury cares."

"Fury can go to _hell," _she scowled, and was met with silence. "Oh, come _on. _You may have given up on him already, but I'll _never _leave Clint to fight this battle on his own."

"We haven't -" Steve began, but Natasha wasn't done.

"And come on -Bruce and Tony, you're probably two of the smartest people in the world. You'll figure out a way to give him his sight back. You have to." She looked at them desperately.

"I'm touched," Tony grinned humorlessly, but he didn't want to get her hopes up. "That doctor back at the SHIELD hospital - what was her name?"

"Joyce," Steve supplied.

"Yeah. She said that there's a chance that Clint will recover -they couldn't be certain. Bruce, you said yourself that it's possible."

"Once Clint wakes up, tell him that we need to run some scans in the lab. I know it's a little soon, but -"

"Why don't you just ask me now?" A fatigued voice interrupted from behind them, and they spun around.

Clint sagged against the doorframe. His hair was tousled and his face was flushed, but he still managed to throw a death glare into their general vicinity.

"How much of that did you hear?" Steve asked with an edge of guilt creeping into his voice.

"Enough to know that you were talking about me. Didn't catch the details...didn't need to. I already know." His expression didn't change, and he didn't move from his slumped position against the wall.

No one could think of a response, so Clint continued.

"I'm not a time bomb, you know," he shrugged. His tone was light but his words were accusing and Tony winced.

"No, you're an idiot," Natasha reminded him, and he snorted.

"We've established that. I'm reckless. I act like a fucking sixteen-year-old. I'm rash, and irresponsible...but I still want to know what you were talking about when I came in."

Bruce shot a glance at Tony and bit his lip. "We were going to run some tests. Tony and I...we might be able to fix your sight. Or at least fix _something."_

Clint's expression remained mostly impassive but Tony detected a small flicker of hope flash across his features.

"When?" he asked softly.

Bruce shrugged. "Once you're better."

Clint argued stubbornly. "I _am _better. I'm fine."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"_Mostly _fine," he amended.

Tony knew that arguing with him would be pointless. "Would _now _work?" He asked, ignoring the glare that Natasha threw at him.

Steve looked at him curiously. "You have that kind of technology?" He asked, clearly impressed.

"I'm Tony Stark. Of _course _I have that kind of technology. SHIELD's crap couldn't get an edge on mine in a million years," Tony waved offhandedly.

Bruce sighed. "No changing your mind, I suppose," he remarked to Clint, who shook his head.

"Nope."

The scientist stood up. "Then let's go."

* * *

"This might hurt. I'm not sure, so I'm apologizing in advance," Tony commented and Clint looked nonchalant.

"I can deal with pain," he muttered as he lay down on the hard table, but Natasha looked skeptical.

"What do you mean, _"'you're not sure?'" _She accused, and Tony threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Didn't I _just _tell you to leave the room?" He asked her, and she shrugged.

"Might have heard you mention it. Chose to ignore it, anyhow."

"I'm staying if you're staying," Steve said firmly, but Clint glared in their direction.

"There's no reason for you to stay," he rationalized. "How hard is it for you to wait outside?"

They didn't answer and adamantly remained put.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Natasha asked the two scientists.

"Nope," Tony responded automatically as he wrapped the table's Velcro straps around Clint's arms. "Eighty percent sure, give or take." He grinned at her expression. "Relax, Nat. He'll be fine. The only life-threatening tests that I run are on myself."

"I thought you said you were just scanning me?" Clint asked Tony. "Why are you strapping me down?" Tony pretended not to notice the hint of panic in his voice.

"New technology. Dunno what's going to happen," Tony confessed. "You probably don't need to worry, though..."

"Probably?" Clint asked incredulously. "How is that supposed to comfort me? Why are you so _calm?_"

"That's what I was wondering," Bruce muttered. "You're too sure of yourself for your own good."

"It's my coping mechanism. Now _please, _will you shut up?" Tony told him, and amazingly Clint complied, though he didn't look very happy about it.

_I hope this works..._

Tony stuck the last sticker on the archer's temple and stepped back, waving the others back as he did so. "We're starting," he warned. "Bruce?"

Bruce went to the control panel and flipped on the switch. The machine next to the table Clint was laying on hummed to life and an array of charts, lines and data flashed on the screen.

Tony watched the screen as Bruce instructed Clint.

"Breathe out...in...out..."

"You sound so professional," Clint grumbled. "I hate it when you sound professional."

"Sorry."

"Hey, Bruce, look at this," Tony called, and Bruce came over. He looked at the screen and sighed in relief.

"Jackpot," he announced, and Clint tried to sit up.

"What is it? What does it say?" Clint asked as Natasha and Steve peered over Tony's shoulder.

Tony didn't answer for a moment.

"Tony!"

"Relax. It's just something for us to go on," Tony responded. "Don't get your hopes up yet."

"Look," Bruce pointed to the lines on the screen. "These are Clint's brainwaves from the hospital." He moved his finger down. _"Those _are his brainwaves now."

Natasha was staring blankly at the data. "I don't see anything."

"Not to be Johnny Raincloud or anything, but can someone _please _get me out of these damn straps?" Clint interrupted. "Why did I even need them?"

Bruce helped him as Tony snorted. "I told you, new technology. Totally unpredictable."

"Sure," Clint muttered.

"Everybody out," Tony shooed them as Clint jumped down from the table unsteadily. Steve caught him when he swayed precariously. "Bruce and I need to work. And who knows... Clint, you might just get your sight back."

_You might just get your sight back. _

Might. Maybe. Possibility. The words were far from perfect.

All the same, it was one step closer to a guarantee.

* * *

I'm trying to make this story a bit of an emotional roller coaster. Drama, angst, friendship...and soon, action! Any ideas for the story, leave them in a review! I need all the ideas I can get!

Is anyone wondering what happened to Thor? Don't worry, he's coming! :D

Thanks to last chapter's reviewers and HBD wishes: Bookdancer, special agent Ali, reachercreature, m9ower, YukinaKid, Felidaes' Tale, firewordsparkler, Piperijanay Alexandria/piperijanayalex, psychioticcowz, Andrewthegreat1, onfire99, kimbee, horselover28, The Nomad34, Parker, anonymous32123, kikizak, Flaming Crow, and Hawaiichick. Lots of new reviewers, great reviews & feedback...and of course, DevinBourdain is an amazing beta as well, and writes great stories. Check them out (after you review, of course :P)

Ciao,

-aporia99


	8. Hacked

Disclaimer: Wish I owned it, but I don't have a fairy godmother, so I don't.

SOOOO MANY GOOD IDEAS! I think I can make a whole couple of chapters out of them. Thanks, everyone!

About an eighth of this chapter is from Clint's POV and the rest is from Bruce and Steve's (Bookdancer requested Steve's POV and trickshot requested one from Bruce, and when I started writing, I found that a section from both Bruce and Steve's POV fit the story perfectly!) Again, any POV requests that haven't been done yet, put 'em in a review.

Blame the snow in Ohio for this chapter -snow day! I was ecstatic. It was NEGATIVE SEVEN DEGREES. Anyone else get a day off? The weather's putting me under house arrest and blocking off all contact with the outside world...nothing else to do but write fanfiction, of course :P

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"Everybody out," Tony shooed them as Clint jumped down from the table unsteadily. Steve caught him when he swayed precariously. "Bruce and I need to work. And who knows... Clint, you might just get your sight back."_

_You might just get your sight back._

_Might. Maybe. Possibility. The words were far from perfect._

_All the same, it was one step closer to a guarantee._

* * *

They left the two scientists to work in the lab after the the Bruce had made sure Clint's vitals had stabilized. They actually hadn't -the shakiness in his limbs and the headache confirmed it, but Clint had a sneaking suspicion that the doctor had given him the okay because he didn't want to put up with his stubborn attitude.

_Oh, well. Better for me, I guess._

With the aftermath of Clint's late night escapade and Tony's test, the other three Avengers didn't get the chance to crawl into bed until the early hours of morning. Natasha offered to come to Clint's room with him, and he shrugged her off again -though by now, he did it more out of habit than because of him actually caring.

The low temperature in his room was frigid and left him with goose bumps running up his bare arms, though Clint knew that on any other day he would have been perfectly fine. Sighing, he climbed onto the mattress and wrapped himself into the thick blankets as if he were a burrito. The extra covers helped only a little, and he laid awake for hours afterwards with millions of thoughts running through his mind that he hadn't had the courage to voice to Natasha on the roof.

Clint _needed_ to see. He didn't know if he could live the rest of his life without his sight, and Tony's hopeful words had made him realize just how terrified he had been at the prospect of losing his greatest asset. Clint used to share Coulson's views on hope. Hope was just a feeling. It didn't change reality, his handler had said to him once. When there was hope, there was always another half. People usually chose to ignore the downside.

Then again, hope might just be what they all needed now.

Clint pushed the uncertainty from his mind, finally falling into a short and uneasy sleep.

* * *

_"Sir, my security protocols are being overridden." _

Bruce woke up to Jarvis's voice in his ear. He stretched briefly, blinking sleep out of his eyes before the full implications of Jarvis's message sunk in.

He sat up sharply and banged his head on one of Tony's machines, swearing loudly as an unrelenting headache promptly began to set in. He was in Tony's lab -they must have fallen asleep working the night before. Tony was passed out in a chair next to him, his mouth was slightly open and seemingly dead to the world.

"Tony!" Bruce hissed, but to no avail. He leaned over and shook him violently. "Tony!"

Tony awoke with a start, glancing around. The wide-eyed surprise on his face would have been comical on any other day.

"Wha' happened?" Tony slurred, looking around briefly before his gaze rested on Bruce. "Brucey?"

"Don't call me that," Bruce snapped automatically before remembering what he had woken Tony up for. "Jarvis's security protocols are being overridden."

Tony blinked. "What?"

"Jarvis just told me," Bruce responded impatiently. "He said -"

"Jarvis!" Tony called out to the room, cutting Bruce off.

There was nothing but static in return.

"...The _hell?" _Tony exclaimed vehemently, standing up. _"No one _can override Jarvis. They just _can't." _

"They just did," Bruce pointed out dryly, and Tony glared at him but didn't reply.

"I'm going to go get the others," Tony announced as he moved towards the glass door of the lab. "I think -" his hand pulled on the door handle as he stopped mid-sentence. "Shit," he muttered. "It's locked."

Bruce looked up. "You can't open it?"

Tony snorted. "That's what 'locked' means, doesn't it?"

_Right. _"What about the glass? You don't happen to have a baseball bat around here somewhere?"

Tony shook his head. "It's bulletproof," he answered miserably. "Hell, it's _Hulk _proof. It's a special compound I made -it's as strong as graphene. Stronger, maybe."

"How the hell did you manage to manufacture glass graphene?" Bruce asked, amazed, and Tony shrugged.

"I defy the laws of physics...unfortunately for us." Tony turned to the back of the room. "There's a back passage -it leads out a few miles into an old warehouse. I can put on a suit -"

Bruce shook his head. "No suit. It's linked to Jarvis."

Tony huffed. "I guess we're walking, then," he resignedly sighed. Moving over to the back of the room, he entered a four-digit code into a keypad on the wall.

Two red words flashed on the screen, accompanied by an immediate buzz.

_ACCESS DENIED. _

Tony entered the code again.

_ACCESS DENIED. _

The billionaire turned slowly, for once at a loss for words.

Bruce supplied them for him. "We're trapped."

"Maybe. I'm going to try to override whatever -_who_ever_ -_hacked Jarvis." He frowned, glaring distastefully at the small, portable computer on his desk. "And I'll have to do it the old-fashioned way."

Sitting back down, he opened his laptop and furiously began to type.

* * *

Steve poured a copious amount of cereal into his bowl for breakfast that morning. It was early, again - he had only gotten five hours of sleep, according to the high-tech clock projected onto his window.

For a genius and a billionaire, Tony's kitchen was extremely unorganized. Steve had stumbled around sleepily for a good ten minutes before he'd finally been able to find any milk that wasn't soy -it was in Tony's personal fridge, of_ course. _

"Hey," a voice behind him acknowledged as Steve shoveled a spoonful of corn flakes into his mouth. Clint ambled into the kitchen and sat down on the stool beside him. He looked tired; there were dark bags hanging under his eyes and he yawned as Steve returned the greeting.

"Hey. It's Steve." Steve informed him, already feeling stupid as Clint snorted.

"I know. Jarvis told me you were up. Couldn't sleep?" Clint asked him and Steve shrugged.

"Wasn't tired. I can't remember the last time I was tired." Steve gulped down another bite of cereal. "You?"

"Couldn't sleep well," Clint answered shortly. "Didn't want to."

Steve finished off his breakfast, draining the last of his milk and stacking the bowl into the dishwasher next to the ever-growing pile of dirty dishes that no one had ever gotten around to cleaning.

"You know, not sleeping isn't really going to help you get better," Steve remarked, and immediately regretted his words as Clint's expression grew cold.

"Not you, too," he muttered. "I've already got Tasha on me twenty four-seven."

Steve wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. "She's just worried. You can't blame her, really."

"It's not just Natasha that's overly protective -it's _all _of you. Except for maybe Bruce, but that's just because he can relate somewhat -"

_BANG._

Steve turned abruptly to Clint at the noise, but he looked just as startled as Steve felt.

"Was that you?" The archer asked uneasily and Steve shook his head, forgetting that Clint couldn't see him.

"No. It was probably Bruce and Tony blowing up something in the lab...per usual." Steve grinned, but despite his reassuring words, Clint's features remained apprehensive.

"That was a gunshot -I'm sure of it. I think -"

There was a crashing noise that sounded like glass being shattered. Clint jumped.

"That was _definitely _not Tony and Bruce," he whispered, and his eyes widened as realization struck. "I think it was coming from Natasha's room." Clint stood up abruptly and took a step forward. He didn't get far.

"Don't move." Clint froze at the new voice. "You move and he dies."

The barrel of a gun poked into Steve's back as he heard the safety click off.

* * *

Please don't hurt me :D I know all you cliffhanger haters are gonna throw mental tomatoes, but I love tomatoes. And criticism. And reviews...I could go on.

I'm not going to say anything about chapter nine because if I do, I'll definitely give something away...I'm awful with the whole 'spoiler alert' thing. And if you were wondering how Jarvis was 'alive' when Clint got up, let's say that Jarvis was hacked somewhere between then and the incident with Tony and Bruce.

Thanks to last chapter's reviewers: kikizak, Bookdancer, kimbee, Piperijanay Alexandria/piperijanayalex (which username d'you prefer?) horselover28, Andrewthegreat1, anonymous32123, trickshot, firewordsparkler and onfire99.

And to DevinBourdain for beta'ing. It has come to my attention that betas don't get half the credit they should (hah. I sound so formal) so I've declared January 23rd a national holiday -beta day! Unless it's already been made...ah, well. Happy beta day, everyone!

Ciao,

-aporia99


	9. Assets

Disclaimer: I know this is waaaay overused, but...Joss is Boss.

Usually, I try post a new chapter every two days -three if I'm busy. I try to put them up at the same time (often 3:00ish...in Ohio, at least) so check back around Sunday or Monday.

Maybe cliffhangers aren't as universally hated as I thought they were...but if you're like me, and you hate them too, I _am _sorry, 'cause another one's coming up. Yet another example of how bad I am with the whole concept of spoiler alerts.

This story's drawing to a close...I'm estimating two or three more chapters. Enjoy :D

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"That was a gunshot -I'm sure of it. I think -"_

_There was a crashing noise that sounded like glass being shattered. Clint jumped._

_"That was definitely not Tony and Bruce," he whispered, and his eyes widened as realization struck. "I think it was coming from Natasha's room." Clint stood up abruptly and took a step forward. He didn't get far._

_"Don't move." Clint froze at the new voice. "You move and he dies."_

_The barrel of a gun poked into Steve's back as he heard the safety click off._

* * *

Papers. There had to be hundreds of them; they towered precariously on the top of his desk, obscuring any view of the mahogany wood underneath. A stack of them had been thrown in the recycling bin; resumes of all the hopefuls that applied for SHIELD -dreams that had literally been thrown away. Nick Fury didn't care. He never wanted to see another paper again. _Ever. _

There was a sudden knock on his door. "Come in," he called out, grateful for the temporary relief from the tedious work that threatened his sanity.

A nervous-looking intern stepped in, fingering his tie and standing up straighter as he saw Fury's expectant gaze. The man's wire-rimmed glasses were askew and his hair was sticking straight up at the back, briefly reminding him of the older, more timid Bruce Banner. "Sir, Avengers Tower is under attack," he stammered out.

_Okay...not so much of a relief. _

The intern continued, "We just got a distress call from Stark Tower -but it's not from the tower's main line. We think that the whole system's been -"

Fury stood up abruptly and the intern visibly flinched. _When the hell did I get so intimidating? _Fury mused briefly. "I want a report on my desk in five minutes. And _please," _he added as the intern turned to leave, "Stop looking so much like a goddamn wet cat. It's getting on my nerves, and I don't want to have to fire you so goddamn soon just because we have a mutual discomfort." _  
_

The intern nodded, gulping, and not obliging Fury's request at all. "Yes, sir," he answered, obviously striving to keep his voice steady. "Sorry, sir."

Fury sighed, tiredly rubbing his temples as the intern scampered out of the room.

_I don't think I appreciate Coulson as much as I should. _

Sitting back down, he pressed the button for said agent on the comm screen that sat before him.

The director only had to wait for a second before his call was picked up, and the familiar voice of his top agent began to answer. "Fu-"

Fury interrupted him before he could even finish the word. "Coulson, I need you in my office. _Now." _He hesitated. "Code red. Stark Tower has been compromised."

There was a moment of silence.

"I'll be right there, sir." Fury heard the distant noise of a chair being pushed back before the line went dead.

_Hold on, team. We're coming._

* * *

"Any luck?" Bruce asked as Tony's fingers flew across the keyboard. The billionaire didn't even glance up before responding.

"Sent a distress call to SHIELD -they should be coming soon. I tried to get a hold of the others, but none of them are picking up." He snorted. "You're supposed to be smart, Banner -you can figure out what I'm doing on your own easily enough."

Bruce huffed. "I'm a scientist. When it comes to computer codes, I'm as bad as Steve. Almost."

"That's a lie," Tony smirked, shaking his head. "Steve and computers have a mutual hatred of each other. You don't even come close. The technologically impaired duck was based off of him, I swear."

"The what?"

"Never mind," Tony muttered. He hit _enter _and sat back, looking mildly pleased with himself. "There. I hacked into the tower's video feed -now we just have to find the others. Natasha's rooms -" He frowned, squinting. "They're empty."

Bruce leaned closer and tapped a section of the screen. "Look," he pointed. "The lamp."

The lamp shade on her bedside table was crooked.

Tony typed in a series of commands and zoomed in on the picture. "And her bed's not made. She _always _makes her bed."

They glanced at each other, each showing a certain degree of uneasiness.

"Let's find the others," Bruce prompted and received a nod. They flipped through the feeds, finding nothing until they reached the security camera in the kitchen.

Steve was standing in front of the sink and had a gun to his head. The weapon's owner was unmasked, but the angle of the camera prevented them from glimpsing his face. Clint stood in the corner of the kitchen. His hands were behind his head and he had a look of loathing on his face as he spoke to the man holding the gun, but they had no way of knowing what he was saying on the grainy feed -there was no sound.

"This is bad, Bruce."

Bruce snorted. "That's the understatement of the century." He paused, biting his lower lip. "Is this live?"

"Yes." Tony said in a low undertone. He switched cameras again, still with a view of the kitchen scenario, but none could get a good shot of the man's face. "Shit. Any chance you can go green for a moment? We might be able to bust out through the ceiling..."

Bruce shook his head. "The whole damn building would fall down on us if I did. Or he could hurt you."

"I think you underestimate how much he likes me," Tony tried to grin, but failed. "Wait..." Tony began typing again. "If I can hack into the kitchen's defense system, I could -"

"Do it," Bruce interjected. "Do anything."

Tony nodded, still typing. Ten seconds passed before a green _access granted _sign flashed across the screen.

"There. Got into the explosives rig -it's the easiest to hack. Now, let's give our friends a little distraction, shall we?"

* * *

For once, Clint's mind was out of ideas. He knew that Natasha kept a gun hidden in the crevice beneath the cabinet -there was one in every room -but by the time he got to it, Steve would be dead. He'd been in situations like this. Before, he'd gotten out every time.

Only this time, it wasn't just his own life at stake. To worsen the situation further, he was blind and without a weapon. His only comfort was the knowledge that if their attacker had wanted them both dead, they would certainly have done it already. He missed the familiar weight of his recurve bow on his back that would provide him with the means to shoot the bastard through the heart...not that it would do them much good if he couldn't see the target anyways.

"What do you want? Who are you?" Clint asked, his voice steady.

"I believe you know me, Mister Barton," the man said, and Clint blinked.

He _did _know that voice. He remembered the slight accent from months before. The last time the two of them met, the archer had been strapped to a chair and listening to screams that were not his own.

"You work for Kryuchkov. Ivan Kryuchkov," Clint realized. An edge of hatred crept up in his voice, and he heard a slight chuckle.

"Very good. I am his right-hand man, in fact -my name is Alec Grigorev. You got away from us last time, Mister Barton. Not again."

_Keep him talking._

"So what do you want?"

"Same thing as last time -information. Kryuchkov is -"

Clint never had the chance to learn what Kryuchkov was, because at that moment, an explosion shook the room as the metallic taste of sulfur settled on his tongue.

With the blast still echoing in his ears, he lunged towards the cabinet that contained Natasha's gun. His hand frantically searched under the wood for the weapon, and he desperately hoped that it was still there.

It was, along with a knife. He took them both out, simultaneously flicking off the light switch next to the sink to level the playing field. Clint abruptly whirled around as he heard someone behind him, lashing out unthinkingly and driving the knife into the shoulder of his assailant.

"Dammit, Clint, it's me!" He heard Steve swear -a definite first -and the super soldier groaned as Clint felt something warm seep on to his hands.

_"Shit!" _Clint's voice was several notes higher than usual, but he didn't have time to elaborate on the apology. He heard the telltale _click _of a gun's safety being pushed off. He shoved his gun into Steve's hands. Immediately in the direction of the noise, he collided with another much heavier body and brought it to the ground with a grunt.

He wrestled with Grigorev for several moments before managing to smack the gun out of his hand. Hearing it skid across the floor, he dove for it and felt around until his hand found the trigger. He scampered to his feet, backing up with the gun held out in front of him.

"Clint, don't shoot!" He heard the gritted voice of Steve. Clint hesitated for a moment then moved the gun off of the super soldier and began waving it wildly around the room.

_Where is that goddamn -_

"Look out!" Steve voiced the warning only a second too late.

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as another force slammed into his head and he hissed in pain, reeling away as his head pounded.

_No. I'm not blacking out this time, _he thought stubbornly, forcing himself fully back into consciousness as he swung a high kick up to his left where he estimated Grigorev to be. He heard a crunch as his foot connected with a jaw, and then a dull _thud _as a body hit the ground.

There was a moment of silence.

"He's still conscious," Steve warned. A second passed in which Clint could hear the soldier heaving himself painfully to his feet from his immobile position on the floor. There was a sickening _crack _and Steve's next words were filled with satisfaction. "There -that's going to be one heck of a headache when he wakes up...but there's bound to be more of them in the building."

Clint didn't respond. The Captain sighed. "I'm fine, Clint. _Really_. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Again, there was no answer.

"Clint. We have to move. Your gun is on the ground to your left, and -"

"I know." There was something odd in Clint's voice, and Steve frowned, perplexed by the archer's answer until his next words struck.

"I can see it."

* * *

Suspense! Wanna see what happens next? Review! Only takes a couple of seconds and makes me happy and encourages me to continue writing.

Last chapter's reviewers: psychioticcow99, csiwannabe99, Piper, Bookdancer, anonymous32123, horselover28, Flaming Crow, kimbee, Andrewthegreat1, and kikizak. I know I say this a lot, but I LOVE the feedback that you guys give me! So thanks :D

Ciao,

-aporia99


	10. Blind Spots

Disclaimer: My original plan to blackmail Joss Whedon failed. I still don't own it.

Andrewthegreat1: I LOVED your idea! And HISHE is awesome, but I haven't seen the Avengers one until now for some reason. Just watched it -made me laugh :D

kimbee: Definitely going to use your idea (chapter seven review) but I might tweak it a bit cause Clint already has his sight back. Thanks for the great feedback!

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_Clint didn't respond. The Captain sighed. "I'm fine, Clint. Really. Don't beat yourself up about it."_

_Again, there was no answer._

_"Clint. We have to move. Your gun is on the ground to your left, and -"_

_"I know." There was something odd in Clint's voice, and Steve frowned, perplexed by the archer's answer until his next words struck._

_"I can see it._"

* * *

A moment of stunned silence followed Clint's words as Steve gaped at the archer, who looked up at him and defiantly met his gaze. There were mixed expressions flitting across Clint's features as he struggled to contain his emotions. _  
_

"What do you mean, '_you can see it?'" _Steve echoed eventually, his mind seemingly unable to process Clint's words. "Just like that?"

Clint shrugged. He seemed remarkably calm. "Just like that," he agreed. "I should get hit in the head more often -seems to work every time." His eyes darted to the door as they heard the _ding _of the elevator door opening. A stampede of footsteps thundered down the hallway -they maybe had ten seconds until the reinforcements arrived. _  
_

"Quick!" Clint hissed pointing to the air duct above them. He sprang off his feet and his fingertips caught the edge of the duct. Hauling himself up, he offered a hand to Steve, who grasped it, wincing at the strain put on his hurt shoulder. His feet disappeared into the ceiling not a moment too soon; the second they had, the door burst open and three pairs of footsteps entered the room.

"They're not here," a voice reported as Clint tensed beside him. His face was shadowed and his eyes were tightly shut as if the faint light hurt his eyes.

"That's Vlacic," the archer murmured softly. "I remember him."

_"Then find them!" _The answer was harsh and fuzzy; it came from a comm device.

"Look over the video feed -see where they went," someone ordered as footsteps passed right underneath them. Steve held his breath in an effort not to give them away.

"We have to get out of here," Steve whispered, beginning to move, but Clint held up a finger.

"Wait."

"...In the lab -Stark's already starting to override our hack," Vlacic continued.

"What about the woman?" Another voice asked.

"She's not going anywhere. We've got her cornered."

Clint turned back to Steve. "Bingo," he grinned, and then held a finger up to his lips until the men dispersed.

"I'm going after Natasha. You get Stark," Clint decided, but Steve was already shaking his head.

"The only way to get to Stark is through the ducts. And..." He shrugged as his cheeks colored slightly, "air ducts and I don't really mix."

Clint considered Steve's words before coming to the conclusion that the soldier was right. He huffed, defeated. "All right. You go after Natasha, but contact SHIELD first. There's a cell phone in my bedroom -it's behind the outlet in the wall next to the door." He paused, looking uncertain. "You know how to use a phone?"

Steve gave him a dirty look. "We had phones in the forties, you know."

Clint grinned. "Right." He quickly gave Steve directions to the archer's room. Steve tried to remember them as they separated and he was left to face the vast maze alone.

_Right, left, left, right, straight, second turn on the left..._

* * *

_I hope he knows what he's doing, _Clint thought doubtfully once they had parted ways. He was crawling on his hands and knees through the ducts, silently following his mental map of Avengers Tower -if it was accurate, Tony's lab was just around the corner to the right. Reaching the turn, he looked to see soft light spilling from the folds of the grate.

Moving forward, he felt around the cool metal floor of the duct for the grate and pushed it aside, dropping to the ground of the lab.

He found the barrel of a gun shoved in his face.

The gun waved uncertainly as the hand gripping it trembled. Bruce's surprised expression was absurdly comical as he realized who he was aiming at.

"Sorry!" He apologized hastily, removing the gun from his friend's face and letting it hang loosely at his side. He looked embarrassed.

"It's fine," Clint waved offhandedly, and looked over Bruce's shoulder to see Tony sitting at the desk. The billionaire's fingers rested on the keyboard of a laptop.

"Clint...you could see my gun, couldn't you?" Bruce realized after a moment of silence. There was a note of astonishment in his voice.

_Right. _"Long story," he said shortly. "I'll explain later.

"You'd better," Tony muttered, and glanced up at the grate that Clint had just emerged from. "We forgot about the air ducts. Would've been a hell of a lot easier than trying to mess with all the computer shit," he stated tonelessly, and Bruce looked up. His mouth dropped open a fraction of a centimeter as he followed the scientist's gaze.

"I feel like an idiot," Bruce muttered, but Clint interrupted before Tony could respond.

"Do you guys have another gun around here, or just that one?" Clint asked, nodding towards the weapon that Bruce held. Clint hadn't had time to retrieve the extra gun that Grigorev had been carrying, and he'd given Steve Natasha's. All he carried with him was the knife, but it would only go so far against guns -bringing a knife to a gunfight rarely ended in victory.

"I have better, actually," Tony grinned. "We've got a bow." He pushed his chair back with a nerve-grating scraping and stood to retrieve the weapon for the archer.

"A bow? Since when did you keep _bows _down here?" Clint asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Since your mission in Morocco when yours snapped. We modified it -this one's sturdier." Tony turned back with a recurve and quiver in his arms. It looked exactly like the one he already had.

"Thanks," Clint murmured in awe, taking the quiver and slinging it around his back. He gently lifted the bow from Tony and ran his fingers up the fiberglass, checking for flaws. There were none.

"It's contracts like your other one so it's easy to carry around," Bruce added, watching Clint's reaction. "Here." He moved forward and pressed a button on the top of the bow. The weapon folded over on itself and Bruce took it, fitting it into a slot on Clint's quiver with a _click. _

"Now, can we bust out of here?" Tony continued, but before anyone had the chance to answer, there was a beeping noise and the door to the lab slid open.

"Get _down!"_ Clint hissed before they even saw who it was. He shoved the other two to the floor, expecting bullets to come whizzing over their heads. He tore his bow from the quiver violently and snapped it into place as he slid an arrow on to the string and aimed.

His target wasn't there.

"What the hell?" Bruce asked as he peered over the edge of the table.

Tony only crossed his arms and looked vaguely irritated. "About time," he called out loudly to the ceiling. Clint and Bruce looked at each other in confusion until the automated voice of Tony's AI responded.

"I've opened the door for you. My apologies for taking so long, but I seem to have been hacked." If Jarvis could portray emotions, he would have come across as extremely annoyed.

Tony snorted. "I realized. Remind me to work on securing that firewall once we get out of this mess."

"Noted, sir."

Tony glanced over to his array of encased suits. "I guess since we've got Jarvis back, I can suit up without the internal computers going haywire?" He asked rhetorically as he took a small remote from the grasp of one of his machines, pressing a button. The glass covering one of the suits slid up and the contraption flew off the stand to attach itself to Tony. Within seconds, Iron Man stood before them.

The visor slid up and the billionaire grinned at them. "Let's blow this joint, shall we?" He asked, but another voice responded from behind them before Clint could.

"No need to. SHIELD's already taken care of it." They turned to see Steve and Natasha standing in the doorframe. Both had cuts and bruises littering their bodies and Natasha leaned heavily against the soldier, only half-conscious.

"Tasha!" Clint asked immediately, moving forward. "Is she okay?"

Steve nodded. "She's fine -took a bad blow to the head. She's tough, she'll pull through."

"Are _you_ hurt?" Bruce asked Steve, eyeing the blood on his shirt. The soldier shook his head.

Clint caught the lie. "Steve's shoulder's injured. I stabbed him."

Three surprised pairs of eyes turned to him. "You _wh__at?" _Tony asked in amazement.

Steve shrugged. "We have a lot to catch up on."

"Apparently," Bruce snorted.

Clint suddenly stumbled as his head throbbed, and Tony reached out to catch him. "Clint!"

His vision was swirling, but it wasn't from dizziness.

_Oh, no, _he thought, beginning to panic. _Not this again._

"Dammit," he swore, blinking heavily as if to clear the darkness from his eyes, but when he opened them only the black remained.

"Clint!" Tony repeated. "What's wrong?"

"Are you hurt?" Someone asked -it might have been Steve. He shook his head.

"No," he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse. "'M fine. Except..."

And then abruptly as it had left, his sight was back as if someone had switched on the light. He looked into the anxious expressions of his teammates -even Natasha, who could barely stand.

"Except what?" Bruce prompted gently.

"Nothing. I just got tired for a second, that's all." The second his words left his mouth, he knew he had said the wrong thing.

"Bullshit," Tony saw through the fib. "Tell us the truth."

Clint opened his mouth, but was spared having to answer as they heard footsteps thundering down the steps. They turned and Clint's hand gripped his bow tighter.

Two SHIELD agents stepped in and the five of them relaxed. The agents -Valdez and Cornors, held guns out, but put them away when they saw the team. Corners turned and called over his shoulder. "All clear!"

Clint let out a breath that he didn't even know he had been holding at the sight of them.

A med team rushed in, followed by the Coulson with a familiar authoritative expression on his features. He saw the team and looked relieved.

"You guys okay?" He asked, and they looked at each other, unsure how to answer the question.

"For the most part," Steve finally supplied.

_"Some_ of us need medical attention," Bruce disagreed, looking pointedly at Steve, Natasha and Clint. Tony nodded his assent.

"Let's get you guys back to headquarters." Coulson took Natasha from Steve, who rubbed his shoulder in relief. "It's over -you're safe."

He led them to the med team and Clint fell in pace beside him.

"What about -" Clint began, but Coulson cut him off.

"Not now. You don't need to stress yourself out." His handler gave him a warning look, but the archer stubbornly ignored it.

"Just tell me if you got them," he implored, and Coulson shook his head.

"Not yet. Some got away."

"Where?" Clint prompted, but only received an almost imperceptible frown.

"If I tell you, you'll go after them. I know you, Clint -and especially in your condition -"

"My _condition _is gone." Clint stared defiantly into the older man's gaze, and saw surprise flit across Coulson's features.

"You don't know if it's permanent," he replied after a moment of stunned silence. "If your vision goes out again when you're fighting, let's face it -you're screwed."

Clint opened his mouth to protest, but Coulson wasn't done.

"I know I can't sway you from doing something when you set your mind to it, but _please, _at least get checked by a doctor before you go doing something stupid. _Please."_

"Fine," Clint sighed in defeat.

_But once I've done that, I'm going after them. _

The unspoken words hung ominously in the air, and they both knew it -but for the moment, Clint was more or less content to be passed into the waiting hands of the medical team.

* * *

Zero cliffhanger this time. This chapter hates me, I swear. I revised it three times, so I hope the end result isn't too bad. Though DevinBourdain helped me out a ton, thankfully...I was SO stuck before!

Also, I was wondering...what time do you guys normally check FF? (alerts, browsing, etc.) I'm aware that the time differences make it different for everyone.

Thanks to lasts chapters reviewers: Hawaiichick, terrik33, m9ower, lederra, Bookdancer, kikizak, special agent Ali, Andrewthegreat1, kimbee, onfire99, Piper, horselover28, and firewordsparkler.

Ciao,

-aporia99


	11. PSI

Disclaimer: Things I own...I could write a list, but that would be boring. Anyhow, 'The Avengers' isn't anywhere on it.

Sooooo sorry about the late-ish chapter...life got in the way :/

I've been debating about a short sequel to this (there are too many loose ties for this story to end with one more chapter, in my opinion). Yes, no? Opinions?

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"I know I can't sway you from doing something when you set your mind to it, but please, at least get checked by a doctor before you go doing something stupid. Please."_

_"Fine," Clint sighed in defeat._

_But once I've done that, I'm going after them._

_The unspoken words hung ominously in the air, and they both knew it -but for the moment, Clint was more or less content to be passed into the waiting hands of the medical team._

* * *

The five Avengers sat uncomfortably on the stiff seats of the SHIELD quinjet, discussing the events of the past six hours.

"I've never been stabbed before," Steve mused as they lounged in the plane. "It hurt more than I thought it would."

Four pairs of eyes shifted to him incredulously. "There are _so _many things I want to say to you right about now, Spangles," Tony shook his head. "Honestly. What did you _think _it would have felt like -sunshine and rainbows?"

Steve shrugged noncommittally and leaned back. His shoulder had been dressed and wrapped with gauze. Thanks to the expertise of the medical team and the Captain's own speedy regenerative abilities, the medics estimated that it would only take a week to heal.

"So what happened with you?" Clint asked, directing the question at Natasha, who was holding an ice pack to her head. She looked up at his words.

"Woke up to a gun to my head. There were three of them -I was obviously underestimated." She shrugged. "There were five more outside, though...I got as far as Tony's room before they came in and cornered me. One of them made the mistake of getting too close -they didn't realize what I could do with the nail clippers from Stark's drawer. I slit their throat." The corners of her mouth twitched. "They kept their distance after that."

"Then I dropped in and everything went to hell. We got lucky -neither of us were hit. Tony, you might need to fix up your room later. I think some valuable stuff was broken," Steve added with a satisfied smirk.

Tony glared at him, but there wasn't much venom behind the expression. "Or I could just assign the room to you and have _you_ do it."

Coulson poked his head around the entrance to the cockpit. "We're landing in a minute," he informed them, and Clint nodded, leaning back. His head still throbbed painfully from his encounter with Grigorev, but he wasn't about to complain -it had given him his sight back.

For the moment, at least. Clint desperately hoped that it was permanent.

The quinjet landed smoothly and they were rushed into the building, closely watched by the med team. It was a relief to not be singled out for being weak -for once, most of the cautious looks were sent in Steve and Natasha's direction instead.

The relief was gone when they entered the building and Coulson took his arm. "Fury wants to talk with you," he told him.

_Fantastic._

The two of them split off from the rest of the group. Natasha threw an encouraging look over her shoulder as she and the others headed in the opposite direction towards the SHIELD medical.

Coulson led him through the building and, for the second time that week, stopped in front of Fury's door. Clint pushed the door open and stepped into the office. He immediately began to feel uncomfortable as the Director fixed him with a studious one-eyed glare.

"Thank you, Coulson," dismissed Fury, waving a hand. Coulson left and the door clicked gently behind them, leaving the room in a silence which Fury broke after a moment. "Barton. Sit."

Clint moved to the seat and hesitantly lowered himself into the chair. The archer's expression was closed; he didn't show any of the uncertainty he felt.

"Am I still a liability, _sir?" _Clint asked stiffly in response to Fury's stare. He couldn't help the bitterness that crept into his voice.

His mood only darkened at Fury's answer. "Yes. Only this time, we might be able to afford it."

Clint caught the _'but' _implied in his tone_. _"And?"

"You need to go through psychological and physical evaluations before I can clear you for field work. Frankly, Barton, I don't trust your emotional level right around now. I doubt I'm the only one."

There was a silence as Clint mulled over the Director's words before coming to the conclusion that Fury was right._  
_

"How long will it take?" He resigned himself to asking.

"However long it takes you to recover," Fury conceded. "Of course, there's also another aspect. SHIELD needs you to resubmit to field agent testing -you know the protocol. Agent Romanoff will assist you with that." He paused. "I trust that won't be a problem for the two of you?"

Clint's lips twitched. "No, sir. No problem." He briefly wondered why Natasha was assigned to overlook his field testing, but he dismissed the thought -he'd ask her later.

Fury nodded, satisfied. "You're to report to PSI immediately for a check-up. I would give you an escort, but I figured you can find your way around on your own."

Clint nodded and stood, moving to the door. His hand rested on the doorknob as Fury called, "Barton, one last thing."

The archer turned.

"This time, don't run out on the psychologists. They're just doing their jobs." There was a note of something unfamiliar in his voice -humor.

"Yes, sir," Clint replied shortly.

He turned the knob and left the room, headed in the direction of the PSI wing.

* * *

"Full name?"

"Clinton Francis Barton."

The man recorded his response on the paper and pushed the clipboard towards him. "Fill that out," he instructed, sounding vaguely bored.

Clint obliged and scribbled the rest of the information, finishing in record time. He set down the pen on his paper.

"Right this way," the man told him as picked up the papers and turned, heading through a door. Clint hesitantly followed him.

He _hated_ psych evaluations. He'd taken it several times before. Nearly every time, Coulson would come with him, but he was with the other Avengers in the hospital and Clint went alone. With the absence of his mentor plus the added stress of the past week, the process seemed ten times worse than usual.

They pushed through an intimidating-looking door and into another, smaller room. It was well-furnished but the walls were tight and made Clint feel slightly claustrophobic.

"Wait here," he was told as the man pushed back open the door and disappeared into the hallway. Clint absentmindedly watched his retreating back.

Glancing around at his surroundings, he chose a small patterned couch to sit on. He was vaguely aware of his foot tapping against the ground, but he didn't make any move to cease the motion as he waited. The room smelled sterile and made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. A clock ticked slowly on the wall -every beat grated on his nerves and made him internally flinch.

It seemed like only ten seconds had passed before the wooden door was pushed open again. Clint glanced up as a woman came through. She had curly blonde hair that was pinned hastily back in a tight ponytail, and she wore a dark coat that reached her knees. She held a thick file at her side and nodded at him as she came in, shutting the door quietly behind her. Clint steeled himself for the questions that were sure to come.

"Clint Barton," she greeted as he stood up and shook her hand. "I'm Dr. Jansen."

He only nodded silently and sat back down, crossing his arms. She seemed nice enough; if he knew her non-professionally, he suspected that they might be friends, or at least friend_ly. _

"You were blind." It was a statement, not a question, and Clint was startled by the abrupt, out-of-the-ordinary approach to counselling.

He blinked and hesitantly answered. "I was." He shifted his feet as she wrote something down and then looked back up, pinning him with a studious gaze.

"Your file says that you're unstable," she told him -again with the direct approach.

_Of course it would say that. _

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Fury seems to think so."

She frowned. "And you agree with him?"

He sighed. "I...yes. I do."

She wrote something else down.

"Can you stop that?" He burst, nodding to the pen and paper she held. She clicked the pen and glanced up.

"What, writing?" She asked, beginning to put it away before he had confirmed it. "If you like. What bothers you about it?"

He shrugged again, not entirely sure how to answer her question.

The session continued on somewhat like this -she would ask him a question, he would give a vague or absent response. He must have been infuriating her; but if he was, the annoyance she felt didn't show at all on her countenance.

"So you ran from the waiting room. Why?"

She was asking him another impossible question, and he could feel irritation rising in the pit of his stomach. He thought back on the day and considered how to properly respond.

_"I'm in a hospital?" He asked rhetorically, and chuckled humorlessly. "I'm fine, except for being blind. I don't need a hospital."_

_"Clint, you're bleeding. You need to rest," Dr. Joyce tried to persuade him, but he was having none of it._

_"I'll heal." He reached for the bed's railing and hauled himself over the edge, then groped for the wall until Tony placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. Clint brushed it off with a snarl. "I told you I'm fine."_

_He found the door and curled a shaking hand around the handle, turning it._

_"Clint, lay down!"_

Turning back to Jansen, he answered as truthfully as he was willing. "I was scared. If _you _had just lost the most important thing in your life, what would _you _do?"

Her eyebrow raised. "The _most _important thing? Surely your sight isn't _that _vital."

He began to disagree, but then thought of his team, Coulson...and Natasha. Was his sight worth them_? _

_No. _The answer came to him unbidden, and he frowned. "I don't..." He stopped mid-sentence. _  
_

"You don't what?" Jansen prompted him gently and he looked up at her. All traces of professionalism were gone from her voice, replaced by something unusual -concern. _Pity? __  
_

Clint hoped it wasn't the latter.

"I was afraid of losing _them," _he realized, and she nodded, leaning back. She didn't say a word; instead, she seemed content to watch him and let him resolve his thoughts for himself. "This entire time..." **_  
_**

"You didn't lose them," she pointed out. "They've stuck with you."

He nodded and stood abruptly. "Can we cut this session a little short? I need to pay a visit to...to a friend."

Without giving her a moment to respond, he turned and hurried from the room.

_I need to find Natasha._

* * *

One more chapter, people! Stick with me for a little longer :)

Thanks to last chapter's reviewers -Bookdancer, YukinaKid, anonymous32123, Lastavica, onfire99, horselover28, kimbee, Andrewthegreat1 and kiwi8fruit...and thanks to everyone who favorited, alerted, and PM'd me over the course of the last week...and DevinBourdain for beta'ing.

Ciao,

-aporia99


	12. Epiphanies

Disclaimer: I've run out of them, but you should know by now that a) it's not mine b) I'm willing to blackmail Joss Whedon to get it and c) ...didn't work. Good thing it's the last chapter, anyways...I'd have to have a boring old 'I owneth this not' disclaimer otherwise. Darn, I shoulda used that... :D

* * *

_Previous chapter:_

_"I was afraid of losing them," he realized, and she nodded, leaning back. She didn't say a word; instead, she seemed content to watch him and let him resolve his thoughts for himself. "This entire time..." **  
**_

_"You didn't lose them," she pointed out. "They've stuck with you."_

_He nodded and stood abruptly. "Can we cut this session a little short? I need to pay a visit to...to a friend."_

_Without giving her a moment to respond, he turned and hurried from the room._

_I need to find Natasha._

* * *

Tony and Bruce were sitting on the hospital bed when Clint burst in. They looked up at him with their brows furrowed as the door slammed shut behind him.

"You're supposed to be in therapy," Tony said as a way of greeting.

_Nice to see you too, Tony. _"They call it psychological evaluation." He shrugged. "But yeah. It's pretty much therapy. I had a epiphany and bolted on my shrink."

Bruce sighed, shaking his head. "You've _got _to stop doing that. It's becoming a habit."

Clint shrugged again. "Where's Natasha?"

"In there," Tony pointed. "Her and Steve are getting checked up -Coulson's with them. They wouldn't let either of us in...for obvious reasons." He rolled his eyes. "Jerks."

Clint glanced at the door Tony had indicated, nodding his thanks as he moved towards it. It opened with a _click _and he poked his head in. He was immediately met with _noise. _

"No, no, _no, _Stark! I will _not _let you come in and des-" The doctor froze when she saw that it wasn't, in fact, Tony. "Oh. Hi."

"Can I come in?" He asked her with an awarding smile. She returned it despite the faint blush that was steadily blooming on her cheeks.

"Of course, of course. They're right in here."

"Sure, _he _gets to come in to see the sick patients," Clint heard Tony grumble from behind him and grinned as he entered the hospital ward.

Natasha, Coulson and Steve glanced up as he walked in. She held an ice pack to her head and another doctor was wrapping what looked like gauze around Steve's shoulder. Clint pushed down the guilt that stemmed from the sight of the wound.

"Aren't you supposed to be in PSI?" Coulson asked, raising one eyebrow.

He shrugged. _I seem to be getting that a lot lately._ "I cut my appointment short. Hey." he lowered his voice as he spoke to Natasha. "Can I talk to you?"

Coulson's eyebrow raised further but he didn't say anything. Natasha stood, wincing slightly at the headache that accompanied the motion.

"Romanoff, you need rest -" the doctor began, but she brushed him off.

"I'm fine." The man opened his mouth to protest again. "Really, it will only take a few minutes."

The doctor scrutinized her for a moment, and finally sighed. "Fine. Five minutes, but you need to rest after that."

She gave him a curt nod and let Clint lead her outside, past Tony and Bruce until the door shut behind them and they were alone in the hallway.

"What is it?" she asked him curtly, and after a long pause, she added, "five minutes, Clint."

"I know." She was studying his face, and his breath hitched. "I realized something while I was in my PSI session," he began._  
_

She said nothing as she patiently waited for him to continue.

"I..." His voice cracked. _Spit it out, Clint. _"When I was blind, after the explosion. I was scared -I was terrified." He gave a dry chuckle. "I think that was pretty obvious."

Natasha remained silent, and his nerves tingled slightly. _This is _Natasha, he told himself sternly. _You can tell her anything. _

"I thought it was because I'd lost my sight," he ploughed on. "I was wrong."

"Clint..." Natasha began -maybe she saw where he was going with this. He continued, effectively cutting her off.

"I was scared because I thought I would lose _you_," he told her quietly. "The whole team, really. But mostly you."

She only stared at him for a moment before asking one word. _"Why?" _

_Why? _He hadn't given much thought to the question.

"I thought you would think I was useless," he admitted eventually, and she gave a low, humorless chuckle.

"Idiot," she told him, bumping him gently on the shoulder with her arm. "We wouldn't think you were useless, Clint. Ever. Even if you were blind, deaf and shot to hell, you wouldn't be useless. _Honestly." _She snorted. "Do you truly think..." _  
_

The door opened and Tony stepped out. He saw their entwined fingers -_when did they start holding hands? -_and froze.

"Am I interrupting something?"

They stood up abruptly. "No," came the simultaneous response, and Tony grinned.

"Sure, lovebirds." They glared, and he cleared his throat. "Doctor says to come in, Nat."

"I am." She detached her fingers from his and moved towards the door. She paused when she didn't hear Clint's footsteps behind her, giving him a sideways glance. "You coming?"

He shook his head regretfully. "I've got to finish my evals. I'm sure Fury's organized a search party by now."

She grinned at the thought. "See you, then."

"Yeah."

The door closed and he was left staring at it for several long moments. Shaking his head, he turned from the hospital ward and, for the second time that day, made his way back down the hallway.

* * *

Both the psychological and medical evaluations passed fairly quickly without any major catastrophes, and the following afternoon found both Clint and Natasha alone in the training room.

"You know," he panted as he whirled beneath her fist and aimed a blow at her left side, "we should really do this more often. It's fun."

"Getting your ass kicked is fun?" She asked him skeptically, though he caught a small grin as her blurred face streaked past him in a handspring.

They were sparring on the mats after having finished the physical evaluation that he'd undergone. The trainers had left them at the pair's but instead of taking a break, Natasha had elected to this.

"I'm not getting my ass kicked," he growled. "I'm winning and you know it." He caught her glare. "Okay, we might be tied."

He missed the left foot that flew towards his legs. It caught his ankles and he flipped over, landing on his back. He groaned.

She leaned over him and he saw the self-satisfied smirk on her features as he cracked an eyelid open.

"You were saying?" She whispered into his ear. He took a breath as she gave him a hand to help him up.

"Two out of three?" He asked, and she laughed.

"Nah, I won. Let's leave it at that." He shook his head.

"I can beat you nearly half the time, and you know it."

"Nearly?" She glanced at him as she wiped sweat off of her brow with the back of her hands and bent down to pick up the plastic water bottle that sat on the edge of the mat. He followed her example, taking small sips from his canteen.

"Fine. One more," she gave in, rolling her eyes in a Starklike fashion.

He set the bottle back down and stretched, flexing his back.

"You're on."

He started the match with a kick to her head that she ducked under, and suddenly they were twirling around each other like partners in an elaborate dance. He was a whirlwind of fists and feet. She couldn't touch him, yet he didn't seem to be able to touch her either. Before he knew it, he found that he was laughing. Maybe it was exhilaration. He didn't know exactly why.

Maybe it was because, for the first time in what could have been _years, _everything seemed all right.

* * *

Fury rubbed the damaged eye beneath his patch and sighed, staring down at the numerous files before him.

**Ivan Kryuchkov  
**

_So you're the mastermind behind all this, _Fury mused as he stared at the grainy photo of the black-haired man. He should have known. **  
**

Two of the men that had raided Avengers Tower had escaped from SHIELD's custody. One was Liev Vlacic, Kryuchkov's second-in-command. The other was Peter Buors. He was the one that they'd stuck the tracker on -he wasn't quite as smart as Vlacic.

Buors had led them straight to Kryuchkov's hideaway. Fury didn't even know that Kryuchkov was still alive until now.

_No one understands how hard it is to be the Director of SHIELD, _he thought as he continued to rub his temples and stare, aggravated, at the paper sitting on the desk before him.

He pushed it away. _Later,_ he promised himself sternly.

For now, he needed a drink.

* * *

OMIGOSHITSFREAKINGDONEASDAGH SDGHADHAG ILUH

THANK YOU. AMAZING PEOPLE. EVERYONE who favorited, alerted, reviewed, PM'd, beta'd, or even just bothered to read/open the link to check it out! Seriously. I'm gonna kick back and take a three-day-long vacation, if you don't mind. My brain has turned into fanfiction soup. It's not pretty.

OH. MY. GOD. I JUST REALIZED THAT I ACCIDENTALLY REPLACED CHAPTER THREE WITH A CHAPTER FROM MY OTHER STORY and it's been like that for TWO WEEKS! No wonder the reviews were going down, it must've been sooo confusing...sorry, everyone! (Thanks, whit3tigr3ss, for pointing that out!)

Reviewers: anonymous32123, Andrewthegreat1, kimbee, Bookdancer, horselover28, Julia and whit3tigr3ss.

Ciao,

-aporia99


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